Raccoons, Revenge, and Strawberry Pie: A 10 Year Old Boy Learns Valuable Lessons about Responsibility, Forgiveness, and Kindness

A story I wrote for my children to teach values, history, and entertain.

Introduction

Grandpa John felt something pulling at his shirt. “Is it pie time yet, Grandpa?”

“In my opinion, Thomas, it’s always pie time,” Grandpa said with a wink to his grandson. “Why don’t you go tell everybody and I’ll start dishing up the dessert.”

The highlight of every Greene family gathering is listening to Grandpa tell stories about the adventures of his life. But Grandpa liked to tell stories about his life if he could eat pie at the same time. So, everybody looked forward to pie time.

Grandpa scanned the group. “Does everyone have a piece of pie?”

“Not me, Grandpa,” said Thomas.

“What kind do you want, Thomas?” Grandpa asked as everybody started to gather round.

“Strawberry,” Thomas replied.

“That sounds delicious,” Grandpa said. “I think I’ll have a piece too. In fact, that reminds me of a time when I was a young boy.”

The room grew quiet as Grandpa sat down in his chair and took the first bite of pie.

“When I was a young boy,” Grandpa began, “I grew up on a farm. Our farm was in a small, beautiful valley surrounded by mountains. There was one dirt road in and out of that valley which led from the town below, up through the hills, past the lake, and to our barn and farmhouse. Surrounding our farm on the other three sides were forests and mountain peaks rising high into the sky. We had so many great adventures growing up on the farm.”

“One day, when I was about 10, I had been outside all day working and playing and had worked up quite the appetite. Mom had made a delicious pie from our fresh strawberries in the garden. Though I had eaten most of my dinner, I was still so hungry! All I could think about was eating a piece of that strawberry pie.”
 
-1-
65 Years Earlier . . .

“Come on, Mom. Please,” I said as I reached for a piece of strawberry pie.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mom said with a tone that told me she meant business.

“But . . .”

“No buts. You didn’t eat your broccoli. You know the rules.”

I looked up at mom with the saddest face I could muster. “Strawberry pie is my favorite.”

“That’s what you say about every pie.”

“Please. I’ll be super good tomorrow and do all my chores and I won’t even complain.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Mom said, more gently this time, “I’ll save you a piece of pie so that if you eat your broccoli tomorrow, you can have it.”

Mom never was one to give into whining. “But, mom,” I continued . . .

“John,” I heard my dad say from the other room, “what did your mother say?”

My dad was a kind and gentle man, and there were few things that made him upset, but I knew that arguing with my mom was one of those things.

“Sorry, Mom,” I said as I gave her a hug.

“I think you have some animals to check on, John,” Dad continued. “Hurry on, now. It’s almost time for bed and we’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

I loved my dad. I wanted to be just like him, but sometimes he made me do things I just didn’t want to do, like go out in the middle of the night to take care of our animals.

“Can’t I just check on them in the morning, Dad?” I said as I peeked into the living room where dad was reading a book. “It’s cold and . . .”

“John Quincy,” Dad interrupted, “have I ever told you about the man you’re named after?”

Only about a thousand times, I thought.

“Come have a seat, John,” he said as he set his book on the table next to him. “Did you know that John Quincy Adams was one of the best presidents the United States has ever had? Did you know that he served under George Washington when he was President?”

“Yes, dad.”

“Well, John Quincy Adams once said, ‘Duty is ours. Results are God’s.’ Those animals outside are relying on you to take care of them. Do your duty and God will bless you for it.”

“Alright, Dad,” I said with a sigh. “But, don’t eat my pie while I’m gone.”

                                                                                                                  -2-

“Dad!,” I screamed from the chicken coop. Feathers littered the ground. I lifted the hatch to the coop. “One, two, three, four, five . . .”

“What is it,” Dad said out of breath, his shoes untied.

“Missy’s gone, Dad. Something got her.”

Dad’s eyes scanned from one end of the chicken run to the other. He knelt and touched the ground gently with his fingers, as if reading braille.

“Well,” he finally said, “let’s grab a flashlight and see how the varmint got in.”
“What was it, Dad?”
“Looks like a raccoon.”
 
-3-

“I think he went under the fence, Dad. See that hole right there,” I said as I pointed the flashlight into the corner of the chicken coop.

Dad squinted. “Good eye, John.”

“I don’t get it, Dad. There’s plenty of food in the forest. Why would he eat our chickens?

“Raccoons will eat anything they can get their hands on. If he can find a way into our coop, these chickens are an easy target.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?” I said.

“I’m sure he will, John.”

I stared at the hole under the fence. “If he tries to get another one of my chickens, that will be the last thing he ever does.”

Dad rubbed my hair then handed me a shovel. “Come on. Let’s get this hole filled in.”

“I was just thinking, Dad, maybe we should bury some chicken wire around the edge of the coop so he can’t dig under the fence again?”

“That’s a good idea, John,” Dad said with a nod.

“I know where it is,” I said and ran for the barn.

                                                                                                            -4-

Dad had most of a trench dug by the time I got back with the chicken wire. We laid the wire in the trench and piled the dirt back on. In less than an hour our chickens were safe again and we were on our way back to the house for the night.

“Hey Dad,” I said, “I think I’m going to sleep outside with the chickens tomorrow night. You know, just in case that raccoon comes back.”

“Oh?”

“Like you said, I need to do my duty. Keeping those chickens safe is my duty, Dad.”

“Do you want my help?”

“No. It’s my responsibility. I should do it. I’ll bring Mopsey with me, just in case.”

“Alright, John. You do what you need to do.”
 
-5-
Back at the House

“But, Mom, I did all my chores today and I didn’t even complain about them once.”

“That’s great, John,” Mom said. “I’m really proud of you. But, you didn’t eat your broccoli, again. Those are the rules.”

“I promise to eat my broccoli next time if you let me eat the pie this time.”

Mom shook her head.

“Fine,” I said. “But will you save my piece until tomorrow?”

“I’ll save it one more day, but then it needs to be eaten or it will go bad.”

“Ok. Can we have carrots tomorrow instead of broccoli?”

Mom smiled but didn’t say anything.

“Hey, Mom?” I said. “Where’s the gray wool blanket? You know, the really warm one?”

“It’s in the cedar chest in the other room,” Mom said. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to catch that raccoon tonight. He’s going to pay for killing my chicken.”

“John Quincy,” I heard Dad say from the other room. He was reading his book again. “Come on in here. I want to tell you something Abraham Lincoln once said.”

Dad had told me all about Abraham Lincoln. He was one of my favorite presidents. He was one of Dad’s favorites too. According to Dad, he was the President who saved the country by getting rid of slavery. Dad said Abraham Lincoln always tried to do what was right, no matter what the consequences might be. Even though dad named me after John Quincy Adams, I wanted to be just like Abraham Lincoln.

“John,” Dad said gently, pulling me up onto his lap. “Abraham Lincoln once said, ‘I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.’”

“What does that mean, Dad?”

“Well, I want you to think about that while you’re sitting out there waiting for the raccoon.”

Typical Dad. He always wanted me to sit and ponder things. I always thought it would be easier if he just told me what it meant.
 
-6-

I could see my breath as I stepped into the dark. The sky was clear and the Big Dipper and North Star shone brightly in front of me.

“Mopsey,” I said, “come on, girl.” Our big, yellow lab jumped up from her bed on the porch and bounded toward me, her tail wagging so hard it made her whole body shake. “We’ve got a coon to catch.”

I grabbed the hatchet near the woodpile on the way to the coop. If I had to protect the chickens against a raccoon, a hatchet seemed like a good idea.

I tried to remember the Abraham Lincoln quote Dad told me. “‘I have always found mercy for rich bears that eat fruit?’ I don’t think that’s quite right. ‘I have always found strict justice for bears who eat rich fruit.” That didn’t sound right either. I pondered the saying long and hard, just like Dad told me to, but still couldn’t figure it out. Mopsey made herself comfortable in a corner next to the chicken coop. Wrapped tightly in the wool blanket, I curled up next to her on the cold ground and drifted off to sleep.
 
-7-

My eyes shot open. It was like a bomb went off. Mopsey was barking frantically outside the chicken run and inside feathers were flying all over and the chickens were flapping and running and squawking around the coop.

I quickly crawled into the chicken run. “Hey!” I yelled as I slammed my hand against the chicken coop. “Get out of here! Get out of here!”

Hatchet in hand and my dog now by my side, I swung the door of the coop open, ready for a fight. At once, the commotion stopped. The feathers settled to the floor. I scanned the coop, but no raccoon, just a hole in the back bottom corner of the coop and a gap in the fence where the wire had been pried back from the post. I frantically looked all around the chicken run. Nothing. And then, there he was, running full speed through the garden toward the forest, the biggest, meanest raccoon I’d ever seen.

“Get him, Mopsey!” I yelled, pointing toward the raccoon, and my dog sprinted off toward the forest.

I followed the barking into the trees and across the stream. About 50 feet past the stream, Mopsey was barking at the base of a large poplar tree. About 15 feet up the trunk was a hole.

He must be in that hole, I thought. I hurled a few rocks at the hole in the tree trunk, but they never hit their mark.

“Next time you won’t be so lucky!” I yelled and threw one last rock. “Come on Mopsey, let’s check on the chickens.”
 
-8-

Feathers littered the ground as I investigated the damage. I opened the door to the chicken coop. Another hen lay dead on the ground.

“That raccoon is going to pay for this,” I said as I picked up my dead hen and started to weep. I would have done almost anything to have my chicken back. I might have even eaten broccoli.

I wiped the tears away, gritted my teeth, and marched back to the house, determined to get rid of that raccoon once and for all.
 
-9-

“Dad, where’s my gun?” I yelled as I stormed into the house.

A few seconds later, the door to mom and dad’s bedroom creaked open and Dad walked out in his pajamas. “Shh,” Dad whispered with his finger over his lips. “You will wake your mother. What’s wrong?”

“Dad . . .” I said, trying to hold back the tears, “he got another chicken.”

Dad hugged me but said nothing. Tears poured down my cheeks.

“So, you want to shoot the raccoon?” he finally asked when the crying slowed down.

“He’s killed two of my chickens, Dad. He deserves it.”

Dad stared at the ground for a moment as if deep in thought.

“John, it’s your duty to take care of those chickens. If you feel like killing that raccoon is what you have to do to keep them safe, go ahead. But it might be easier to catch him first in my trap. I’ll grab the gun. The trap is in the barn.

I’d helped Dad trap many animals over the years. He liked to use a live trap, which is a metal cage with a trap door that closes when the animal walks in. He would take the animals he caught away from our farm and let them go again.

“Here’s your .22,” Dad said as he came back out of his bedroom. “I know you know how to use it properly, John, and I know you’ll be safe. But, please be careful.”

“I will, Dad.”

“Do you remember how to set up my trap?”

I nodded. “What should I use for bait, Dad, to get him into the trap?”

“There’s one last piece of strawberry pie in the refrigerator,” Dad said with a wink.

“No way I’m wasting that pie on a mangy raccoon, especially not this one. Do they eat broccoli. Maybe he’ll just die from eating the broccoli and I won’t even have to shoot him.”

Dad shook his head and smiled. “Mom won’t let you off the hook that easily.” Dad pulled a jar out of the cupboard and handed it to me.

“Peanut butter?” I asked.

“Raccoons love the stuff. You’d better hurry, now. You’ve only got a couple hours before the sun comes up and we’ve got chores to do. And you’d probably better leave Mopsey here this time. No way that raccoon will come out of that tree if a dog’s around.”

I grabbed my gun and the peanut butter and headed for the door.

“John,” Dad said. “Leave some of that peanut butter for the raccoon.”

Dad knew me well. “I will.”
 
-10-

I licked the peanut butter off my finger and looked into the empty jar. Hope I put enough peanut butter in that trap, I thought.

The sky was turning a light blue in the east and the stars were beginning to disappear. Dad would want me home soon. My back ached from crouching quietly in the bushes. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Wish Mopsey was here to keep me warm, I thought.

I peered through the bushes one last time. To my surprise, there he was, looking out of the hole in the tree. That nasty raccoon climbed down the tree and cautiously approached the trap. He reached his paw through the side of the cage, but the peanut butter was just out of reach. He tried the other side but still no luck. Finally, he waddled to the door and cautiously crept in. Just as he reached the peanut butter, the door snapped shut.

“Gotcha!” I said, jumping up from the bushes. “Serves you right, Coon. You messed with the wrong guy.”

I picked my gun off the ground and looked carefully down the barrel, lining the sights up with the rodent’s head. The raccoon turned toward me. I stared into his eyes. I recognized something in them. They weren’t the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. They were . . . afraid.
 
-11-

My stomach was in knots as I stared down the barrel of the gun. That raccoon deserved to die, I told myself. Here was my chance. I closed one eye and refocused. Placing the bead between his eyes, I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip. My heart pounded in my chest. I thought about my two dead chickens as I tried to squeeze the trigger but my finger wouldn’t move. Something wasn’t right.

My Mom and Dad had always taught me to pay close attention to my feelings and if something didn’t feel right, don’t do it.

“You’re lucky, Coon,” I said as I lowered my gun to the ground. “I should shoot you for what you did to my chickens.”

The raccoon stared at me for another moment, then looked back toward the hole in the tree.

What is he looking at? Squinting, I took a couple steps toward the tree. I gasped. From the hole, three small, furry-eared, masked faces peered down at me.

“You’re a momma?” I said, glancing back at the cage.

And then, almost as clearly as if he was standing right next to me, I heard my dad’s voice quoting Abraham Lincoln. “I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”

My stomach and muscles relaxed. Peace and comfort flooded my body. All the anger I had felt for that raccoon seemingly disappeared into thin air.

Slowly I walked toward the cage and knelt down. “I’m lucky I didn’t shoot you,” I whispered to the momma raccoon.

                                                                                                                  -12-

The smell of biscuits, apples, and cinnamon were in the warm air as I ran through the front door. “Oh good,” Mom said, “you’re back just in time for breakfast.”

“Sorry, Mom. No time. But can I have that strawberry pie, now.”

“For breakfast?” Mom said.

“Yep. It’s really important, Mom. Trust me. I’ll even eat the broccoli, if I have to.”

“Are you feeling ok, John?”

“Never felt better, Mom.”

Mom grabbed the pie and the broccoli from the fridge and set the broccoli on the table.

Pinching my nose, I swallowed the broccoli as fast as I could, hoping not to taste the flavor. It didn’t work.

“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Mom said as she set the pie on the table in front of me. “Now what’s so important about this pie?”

“I have to show you. Where’s Dad? He’ll want to see this too.”
 
-13-

It was tricky coaxing the babies out of the tree, but once they tasted Mom’s strawberry pie, they climbed right down into our arms. We even saved a little bit of pie for Momma Raccoon. Mom said she would like to keep the babies, or at least maybe Momma Raccoon would let her babysit every once in a while. Dad insisted that our chickens would appreciate it if the raccoon family found a place to live somewhere far away.

So, we saddled the horses and grabbed the raccoon family and headed up the mountain, deep into the forest. We searched all day and finally found a large tree with a hole in the trunk next to a small stream, just like their old home. They must have been very excited to get out of the cage. As soon as Dad opened the door, Momma Raccoon and the babies ran straight for the tree.
 
-14-

“That was a great story, Grandpa,” Thomas said.

“But, what happened to the babies?” Mary, Thomas’s older sister, asked.

“Well, Mary,” Grandpa continued, “a few months later, as the peaches began to fall from the trees and the leaves started to change from green to gold, Mom insisted that we head back up the mountain. “I just need to know they are doing okay at their new home,” she said.

We arrived at the big tree next to the stream, but no raccoons were to be seen. We sat quietly for a long time, but still nothing.

“I was hoping to see the babies one more time,” Mom said, “but I guess I’ll just have to leave this for them instead. Last berries of the season.”

From her bag, Mom pulled out and unwrapped a strawberry pie. Those raccoons must have remembered Mom’s delicious pies, because at just that moment, Momma Raccoon and her three babies stuck their furry heads out of that hole in the tree and I’m pretty sure they were licking their lips.

We all sat around eating a piece of pie, the raccoons next to their tree and us on the other side of the stream next to our horses.

“Dad,” I said as I watched the raccoons eagerly eating their pie, “I think I understand now what Abraham Lincoln meant.”

“And what’s that?” Dad asked.

“I wanted revenge against this Momma Raccoon. I thought revenge would make me feel better. But I think the thing that makes us happiest of all is if we forgive others and show them mercy.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, John,” Dad said.

                                                                                                          THE END

A Few Historical Notes:

John Quincy Adams was the sixth President of the United States. His father, John Adams, who was the second President of the United States, and his mother, Abigail Adams, were devoted patriots and taught John Quincy Adams from a young age to love liberty and stand up for what is right. John Quincy Adams was one of the strongest and most outspoken voices against slavery of his time.

Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth President of the United States and led the fight against slavery during the Civil War. He was a kind and courageous man who loved animals. In fact, he had many animals that lived in the White House with him while he was President, including a dog, cats, goats, and even a turkey. Though he hated war and violence, Lincoln was willing to fight for what he knew was right—fighting for the liberty and equal rights of all men and women.

Mopsey was the name of one of George Washington’s dogs. George Washington loved animals, especially his dogs and his horses.