Raccoon critics

OK boys and girls, I now know how the mostly viciously abused rejects from the American Idol TV show feel. Early this morning I was sitting on the back porch playing my guitar, trying to get the hang of Souvenirs, one of my favorite Prine tunes (yeah, I know I'm playing hooky from work today, and it feels GREAT!). It had just started getting light, and I was sleepy enough that my focus was zeroed in on the effort of trying to get my left hand fingers to hit the right chords while my right hand fingers picked the right strings, so I didn't see the raccoon until he started hissing at me. That's right, the little masked fuzzball was sitting on his haunches about ten feet away with his lips curled and was just a-hissing away at me. At first, I thought maybe he was trying to sing along, but pretty quickly I realized that he was just being rude. I stopped playing, and he stopped hissing. I hit a string and he cocked his head and gave me a quick little spitting hiss. "Go fly a kite, buddy, and stop that infernal racket" he seemed to be saying.

Well, I'm naturally inclined to be a little shy about my guitar playing, considering it to be an exercise much like praying - best kept just between me and the Lord, you know. So, of course, I picked up my guitar and my cup of coffee and retreated into the house. The little monster sniffed around where I had been sitting and then shambled off into the mangroves with his mission accomplished.

Guess I'll use the study for a practice studio from now on, huh?