The Mournful Demise of Ben the Raccoon


Are you expecting another Chicky Chick story? Well, that isn’t what I have for you today. Today I have written a fanciful story about a raccoon. Raccoons like to eat chickens. People like to stop raccoons eating their chickens. I like to write about the above. So, blog post. I hope you like it.

The Mournful Demise of Ben the Raccoon

Ben was a good sort of raccoon. He was well liked among his family and friends, although nobody ever quite believed his fantastic stories. His stories were always about how he outwitted the humans, narrowly escaping danger, and while the bare facts of the tales may have been true, everyone agreed he exaggerated a bit. It was widely acknowledged, however, that Ben was the craziest raccoon in the state. The truth of the matter was, he was more than a little hurt, because he faintly realized nobody believed him. So after a bit or so of stolen whiskey, Ben would get brave enough and mad enough to try to prove his bravery and truthfulness. Everyone who knew Ben had seen foolhardy displays of good ol’ raccoon daring many, many times. It was not an uncommon occurrence for one raccoon, upon meeting a friend, after pleasantries were exchanged, to say something along the lines of, “You remember when Ben….”

“Remember when Ben” was so common a phrase among the raccoons of that area, it has been debated whether it should actually be considered a greeting in the local dialect. They’re still arguing about it, and my guess is, they’ll still be arguing about it twenty years from now, when the raccoons have forgotten why they even say it……although, I don’t quite think they’ll ever forget Ben.

There was a thousand and one stories about Ben, and nearly as many raccoons eager to tell them. Go find Bob- not Bob-that-lives-in-a-tree-stump, I mean Bob-that-lives-in-a-barrel- and ask about Ben, and he’ll tell you about the time Ben tried to parachute off a shed with a plastic bag. Run across Helen and she’ll chat with you for hours about the time he tried to get in a human’s house to get some more whiskey (they ran out at the party across the street) and got stuck halfway down the chimney. Track down Todd and he’ll talk about how when he was a kid his Uncle Ben got him to wake up a hibernating bear, which leads us to another common phrase among the raccoons, specifically raccoon parents. “Don’t listen to Ben,” mothers whispered in their childrens’ ears and fathers lectured to teenagers. The children had grown up hearing those words, and it was really out of tradition they were spoken more than anything else, because both they and their parents knew full well they weren’t going to listen, just as their parents hadn’t listened to their parents before them.

Once in a while a raccoon would try to leave Ben off the guest list for a party or barbeque or so. Despite not being invited, despite the raccoon in question trying as hard as any raccoon ever had to keep the gathering a secret from Ben, inevitably Ben would saunter in, making bad jokes and talking about how he’d just narrowly escaped death.

Despite Ben’s shenanigans, nay, because of them, every raccoon in the area knew and liked Ben, and every raccoon in the area missed him when he was gone. And here we have arrived at the mournful part of our story, which, up until now, has been rather humorous, I hope.

It was a dark and stormy night. Ben was coming home from a late night at a housewarming party, informing the new raccoon family of his many adventures. (The family had been told about Ben, and had already heard about his more comical and much more truthful escapades). Ben had had a good time, but the food wasn’t to his liking, and he was strongly considering going to the chicken coop at Crazy Lady’s and grabbing a bite to eat, but it was more than a mile detour. He was deep in thought on this subject when it happened. That sad, terrible thing happened. He smelled a marshmallow.

Ben had a notorious sweet tooth and he especially liked marshmallows. He was well known for sticking a marshmallow or two (or three or four, it depended on many marshmallows he had and how long the party had been going on), in his adult beverages. As this account shall prove, his fondness of sugary treats was his downfall.

Ben instantly began following the smell, never hesitating. Another raccoon might have, especially after Cousin Kyle disappeared near that very same area the marshmallow smell was coming from. But Ben was too brave to turn back. At least, that’s what he’d like you to think. Really, not to speak ill of the dead, he was just too foolish.

Ben followed the smell to a shed. Behind the shed was a small metal cone. Ben saw the marshmallow inside. He reached his paw in, and, oh, the horror, he started to pull out the marshmallow- and he couldn’t! His hand was trapped.

At first, Ben didn’t realize what danger he was in. But as he tugged and tugged, then yanked and yanked, he realized…..he had been tricked. The marshmallow was a cruel scheme, designed to lead unsuspecting, innocent raccoons to their death! (There are many chickens that disagree about the innocence of raccoons). It seemed Ben had found out what happened to Kyle.

Ben began to shout for help. He no longer cared if the humans heard him, if he didn’t shout for help, he was done for, but if he shouted for help and someone heard him, he would be saved! Ben did not stop to think how his rescuer would free him. It was futile, at any rate. No one could hear him scream. Except for That Guy.

That Guy had been woken up by Ben’s cries, and was now trudging to the shed. He was rather grumpy at being woken up. He was in no mood for mercy. What happened next I’m sure you know, it is too terrible for me to describe in much detail. The end result of Ben’s encounter with That Guy, was Ben being unceremoniously stuffed into a garbage bag and tossed in the trash.

Alas, that was the end of Ben the Raccoon! Ben was unique. There had never been a raccoon like him, never has been, and never will be. Farewell, Ben, you will be missed.

Photo by anne sch on

Thanks for reading this, I hope you liked it. It was fun to write, no offense to raccoons. Then again, why do I care if raccoons take offense? They want to eat Chicky Chick. Go away, raccoons.

The Adventures of Chicky Chick: Volume Three

“…one should never underestimate a chicken.” -Kylli Berg

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