Husband Insisted on Poisoning the Raccoons Who Raided Our Backyard, but What They Dug Out of Our Trash Left Me Stunned

My husband set poison traps for the raccoons that raided our backyard, but I couldn’t bring myself to agree. One night, they pulled something from the trash and I was curious. What I saw in the moonlight left me breathless and in tears. “No, Kyle, please don’t hurt the poor thing!” The words tore from my throat as I watched my husband hurl a stone at a pregnant raccoon waddling across our backyard. The rock missed, thank God. And the animal scurried away, her movements clumsy with the weight of her unborn babies.

Kyle turned to me, his jaw set and knuckles white around another rock. “They’re pests, Josie. The sooner you understand that, the better.” I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop shaking. After fifteen years of marriage, you’d think I’d be used to his outbursts by now. But every time, it felt like a punch to the gut. He scoffed, tossing the second rock between his hands. “Yeah, well, they can survive somewhere else. I’m sick of coming home to a war zone every day.”

“It’s hardly a war zone. It’s just some scattered trash.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start with me, Josie. Not today. “The raccoon problem, as Kyle called it, had started last spring. We’d wake up to find our trash cans knocked over and contents strewn across the lawn. Once, they even climbed onto our deck and raided the leftover barbecue from my birthday party. I didn’t mind much. They were just hungry, after all.

But Kyle took it personally like the animals were deliberately trying to provoke him. “I’m telling you, we need better locks for the cans,” I suggested one morning as Kyle angrily watched me scoop up the scattered garbage. “Maybe some chicken wire around the garden too. My sister Jane says that worked for them.”

“I don’t care what your sister says. What we need is to get rid of them. Permanently.” I remembered when we first met, how his spontaneity had seemed charming. Now, at forty, that impulsiveness had morphed into an iron-fisted need to control everything, including me. “Kyle, please. Can’t we try the peaceful way first?”

He jabbed a finger at me. “You always do this, Josie. Always trying to make everything complicated when there’s a simple solution right in front of us.” “Simple doesn’t always mean right.” He slammed the broom against the side of the house. “What was that?” I flinched. “Nothing. I’ll look into better trash cans today.” That weekend, I found Kyle in the garage, assembling something metallic. “What’s that?” I asked, though I already knew.

Animal traps. He didn’t look up. “Insurance. These smart traps will catch anything that comes near our trash.” “Kyle, please. They could hurt them.” He slammed down his screwdriver. “That’s the point! I’m so sick of you defending these disease-carrying vermin. You act like they’re some kind of pets.” “They’re not pets, but they don’t deserve to suffer. Maybe if we just—”