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Dull Monsters

Thomas Van Street

    It was just off the path near Paw Paw. A nuisance trapper was tracking dazed and disoriented raccoons in the woods.
    The nuisance trapper was an older gentleman, somewhere in his later sixties. He had a slight physique, weighed no more than 150 pounds, but had strong forearms and hands. The nuisance trapper walked with a forward stoop and traveled slowly, carefully. He lived inside a thick mental fog due to work-related head trauma and diseases he got from animals. The effects were cumulative and dire.
    In better times, the nuisance trapper worked under contract for the state wildlife control agency. Someone would call the state asking for this possum or that skunk or some coyote to be removed from their property. The wildlife control agents would refer the caller to a nuisance trapper. In his day he was the best around. He would remove that critter dead or alive. You pick.
    Now he was confused. Trapped in that fog. The nuisance trapper heard about raccoons with distemper over on the towpath, meandering around the hiker-biker rest area near Paw Paw in broad daylight. His first thought was that any fool knows raccoons traipsing around in daylight is a red flag for sure. No one called the trapper to address this public threat, he just heard about it from the men at the tavern in Little Orleans. He figured he’d head over and investigate the problem.
    The nuisance trapper shuffled along with a silver catchpole. He followed one raccoon for a time and then gave up on that one and turned to pursue another. The raccoons were not scared of him, they did not even seem to notice him. They were intoxicated, unsteady under the influence of the virus. They barely inched along, scratching at the earth, digging for things. The nuisance trapper sneaked up on one and tried to slip the vinyl noose over its head. The raccoon sensed the noose and wriggled free, just went back to what he was doing before.
    The trapper had been following this group of ten or so sick raccoons for a few days. He was not mad at them, and he told them so. This ain’t your fault, he said to them. The virus just took hold of you. This is understandable. Now let’s just get you out of your misery. He wanted them to know there were no hard feelings.
    It was early morning now and the nuisance trapper was already out of breath. He had emphysema on top of everything else. While he took a knee to get a breather, he saw the young man and black dog walking up the towpath towards him. He quickly rose to his feet, using the catchpole as a crutch.
    He could tell the dog wanted to get at those raccoons. The young man had to hook two fingers under the dog’s collar to contain it. It wanted to eat those raccoons for sure. The dog was smallish but plenty strong it looked like to him, since the young man was bent at the waist and getting dragged. He had to dig his heels in.
    The nuisance trapper waved hello to them. Tread lightly here, he told them. Got some sick raccoons here. I’m rounding them up. Non-lethal catchment if I can. He held his catchpole up for them to see. And then he looked around, turning circles. He remembered that he could not remember where his truck was or where his humane trap was. He wore one leather anti-bite glove on his left hand.
    The nuisance trapper thought the young man looked afraid. He could see him reading his pulse in his neck with his fingers and whispering encouragement to himself. That dog, on the other hand, had no fear. Hang on to him, boy, he told the young man. Has your dog had his shots? Dogs get the distemper too, you know. The young man said, she’s a girl. And, no. No, she hasn’t had her shots in a while.
    The nuisance trapper went back to chasing the disabled raccoons around. The raccoons did not seem to notice one another either. They had a milky film over their eyes and their faces were wet from their leaking eye sockets. These feral drunks had some sort of mission they were fulfilling but they weren’t quite sure what it was. The young man and the dog watched them, these dull, slow-motion monsters.
    The dog wanted to eat one or two of them, but the young man would not allow it.
    The nuisance trapper limped over to them. Here, son he told the young man, hold this for a second. He handed him the catchpole. And, here, put this hat on. He removed his camouflage baseball hat and reached it out towards the young man. Put it on, he told him. I want to see what I look like from another perspective. The young man shrugged and did as he was told. Is that what I look like? asked the nuisance trapper. Is that how it is? The young man told him he did not know and handed the items back.
    The nuisance trapper asked him, Where you headed, son?
    Silver Spring, the young man told him.
    The nuisance trapper stood helplessly as two of the raccoons staggered near the young man and dog and started tunneling with no results at the ground at their feet. They were not frightened by the dog’s barking. The young man had a hold on her collar and the dog pulled at the restraint. The young man scooped the dog up in his arms and headed east, toting her to a less disturbing scene.
    When the two were out of sight, the nuisance trapper forgot about them. He went back to work following terminally ill raccoons around in a serpentine fashion.

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