On The Ferocity Of Raccoon's

 One winter evening, long ago, my father and I happened upon the alpha, granddaddy of all coons laying stunned on the highway having just been run over. 

My daddy was nobody's fool and fully understood the nature and ferocity of coons but a sixth sense, which was very strong with him, told him it would be OK to pick up that coon from the highway and take him to our home for recuperation and that is exactly what we did, wrapping Mr coon in a jacket and putting him in the backseat of that venerable ole' Plymouth Valiant. 

The next morning the coon was feeling much better and was crouching under the dash between the brake and clutch pedal and the coon would brook no conversation what ever to the effect of could you please move to a different location so that I can drive my damn car to work without worrying about being emasculated by the great granddaddy of all coons

And again my father's extra sense told him it would be OK, so he very slowly and carefully got into his car and operated the clutch and brake with that gigantic coon right between his feet. 

This went on for a couple of days and that coon was starting to put on fat from the delicacies we were feeding him and we would leave the car door open all night and he would not go. 

Finally we thought we just had to get rid of him so one evening we drove down to the Tennessee River and parked on a peninsula, opened all four doors and I climbed up on the roof and reached in and operated the horn with a stick. 

The coon lit out of there like a bat out of hell, hit the water swimming and that was the last we saw of him.