Sarvey Wildlife Center

Rocky and the Rockettes
by Kevin Longwell

It was a dark and stormy night in a town that knows how to keep its secrets. I was sitting at my office desk peering blankly out the window, discussing the day's activities with Jack Daniels and daydreaming. My peaceful reverie was suddenly shattered. In the dim glow of the porch light, up she strode as bold as you please. What a knockout! Beautiful brunette hair, she moved with the grace of a cat, her eyes shown in the failing light of dusk, pearly teeth sparkling like diamonds on the sea. The mask she wore put me in mind of a Hollywood bandito, a female Zorro perhaps. A mysterious sort it seemed. She turned away briefly then and her striped tail moved through the air like breeze through the ...... Striped tail??? It was then that I realized, this graceful creature was none other than Rocky Raccoon. Soon it became apparent just why she had come to my wooded acres. The squirrel feeder full of peanuts was the attraction. Straight up the cedar she scurried, to perch delicately on its lid in a kerplunk - it’s - mine sort of fashion. (see photo taken later) As the evening progressed, Rocky had perfected an acrobatic series of movements to successfully extract a crunchy morsel from the feeder. First she placed a back paw on the back of the feeder and the other on the stoop. Then gracefully unweighting herself from the lid, she raised it with the inside paw, and reached in to gather the spoils with the remaining paw. Clack went the lid and crunch went the nut. Executed in one slow continuous graceful motion, like a dance in shadows, this was a delight to watch. (see photo) One after another, the feeder gave up its delectable treasures until it was empty and the masked marauder had her due. Down the cedar then, and off like the breeze into the deepening shadows, a bandit in the night. For many nights Rocky returned to fill her belly. Soon I found myself leaving eggs, apples, grapes, and other tasty morsels at the cedar. It was an addiction of sorts, this mysterious visitor and her graceful dance. I started sneaking outside for a better view. Keeping my distance at first and letting her get used to being observed, moving a little closer with each visit. Soon she would even allow me to take a few pictures, although the close-up photo here of her better-not-touch glare shows her apparent displeasure with my presence and the bright flash. Her visiting time varied some, probably so as not to attract targeting predators. Little did she know that she was within spitting distance of the most fearsome predator of all. But I had no designs on such archaic endeavors. Sometimes she would arrive well before sunset and pose for a daylight photo. Note the facial expression in the climbing profile here. Yes, that’s her tongue! A haunting reminder of this beauty’s aloof solitude. Come to discover however, that solitary Rocky was not. One evening while she perched in the shadows, crunches of delight filling the silence, I crept to the base of the cedar. The small light I held wandered into the branches and much to my surprise, there were three masked accomplices waiting above her. They were about the cutest things this side of the Mason Dixon. The photo of their curious shining eyes does not nearly do justice to their cutitude. They came to be known as The Rockettes of course. The kits would wait patiently in the branches every evening for Rocky to finish and then follow her silently into the night. Those four stripy tails departing behind the graceful waddles never failed to bring a smile. Then late one evening while stationed at my office window came another surprise. This one was both pleasant and unpleasant. Up the drive and around the cedar, pausing very briefly to sniff beneath the feeder, and then departing swiftly into the woods, came a cat. This was no domestic cat. It was beautiful and moved with style and grace. Auburn to goldish in color it was, with black tipped ears and a short bobcat - like tail tipped in black. Several faded black stripes adorned the front legs above the knee. I could not make this two - foot - at - the - shoulder critter be a bobcat. No way. As near as I could determine it was either a Canadian Lynx or some mix of that with a domestic cat. My sis is a cat person, she has somewhere around 70 believe it or not. She told me that domestic cats have been known to breed with the smaller wild cats. At any rate, the unpleasant part of this evening’s encounter was the fear that I had chummed the Rockettes smack into this critter’s range. Then the worst happened. Rocky and The Rockettes ceased their nightly raids. I didn’t see them for weeks. I saw the cat once more a couple weeks later and haven’t seen it since. This was last year. Needless to say, I was kicking myself for ever having set them up for such an ending. Many a regretful gaze was cast through the office window in the days to follow. They would be easy pickings for the cat. But lo and behold, several weeks passed and my worst fears were shattered by a visit from The Rockettes, but only two this time. Eventually all three showed up again and the celebration began. It was apparent that Rocky had forgone their visits in order to teach them to be on their own and make the inevitable separation. And maybe she knew the cat had detected them. My final fear was that Rocky had sacrificed herself to the cat in order to save The Rockettes. Even she would be no match for the much larger and quicker cat. But Rocky returned a little later then, only separate from The Rockettes. T’was a joyous reunion to be sure. The Rockettes have stuck together ever since. Their treats are a varying combination of eggs, apples, grapes, peanuts, sunflower seeds, and the occasional salmon or chicken scraps. To watch them smack their lips on grapes is hilarious. They are growing nicely, nearly the size of the once much larger Rocky . And so the saga of Rocky and The Rockettes continues in a town that knows how to keep its secrets. by Kevin Longwell