He came in from the backyard with his nose so close to the ground that he looked like an anteater. She turned the corner sharply, entered the living room, and headed straight for the fireplace. Although not as crazy as cats, dogs have their own idiosyncrasies, so I didn’t think too much about it. As morning turned to mid-morning, my wife was getting ready for work, in a hurry as usual. I was in the process of looking for a job online. Spence came back into my office looking for attention. “Do you want to go outside?” I asked.

He sat next to me, he looked at me as if to say: “no, it’s not that, try again”

He was puzzled now.

My wife was running, she gave me a quick kiss and said “I have to go”.

“Do you notice anything strange about Spence?” I would say that

“Not because?”

Since I didn’t want him to be late for work, I told him, “I’ll take care of it.” She hurried out the door. “Okay,” she said.

I made myself 2 eggs for breakfast and always spoiled my dog ​​with a piece of toast from time to time. We could eat together that way.

Once again it was time for him to go out, and once again he came back the same way as before. Head towards the rug, directly to the left, this time spent more time near the fireplace. He was sniffing and staring. I never knew my dog ​​looked like a hunter, but if he did, he would be.

“That’s it!” I thought “There’s something in the fireplace!”.

Through the glass doors I could see that the insulation had fallen to the bottom. With the doors partially open in the middle, it looked like something had tried to break the latch from the inside, so I opened the doors to take a look. Seeing nothing the first few meters up and then a little further, there it was, 2 big eyes staring at me. I quickly backed up and then “bam”, I hit my head against the hard brick.

Articles on the Internet suggested ways to get rid of raccoons, such as dropping a rope down the chimney to make it easier for them to get out, playing loud rock and roll, and pulling out ammonia-soaked rags or mothballs. I tried them all and still the raccoon didn’t move.

The next day I resigned myself to the fact that the only way to get rid of the rodent was to call a professional. It was time for The Varmint Police.

It turned out that the Police Varmint was a guy named Bill.

Bill was a tough-looking guy, but just the kind of guy who could get rid of a raccoon stuck in a chimney.

On the way home I explained to him how the last 48 hours had been.

“I’ll catch him,” he said. “I need to get my cage out of the truck.”

Standing by the fireplace, waiting for Mr. Varmint Police to return, seemed to last longer than the minute it did. Taking a long stick with a rope, he knelt down and stood in the narrow opening of the fireplace. A loud “Shit, he got me. #%**!” You could hear and then out of the chimney opening came a big, hissing, pregnant raccoon hanging from a rope, and Bill, the bloodied, armed exterminator.

They let him loose in the open cage, trying to get out as soon as they put him in. BLOW! the door closed. The raccoon was captured and taken to the truck.

I paid the Varmint Police their fee for arresting the creature and thanked them.

I’m not sure what happened to the raccoon, but it taught me a thing or two.

You must keep a chimney cap on the chimney and a good dog in the house.