There are famous grudges in history: Rome vs. Carthage, Tesla vs. Edison, Minnesota vs. Wisconsin. You can explain them with history, politics, human nature. Nothing explains the vicious quarrel between dogs and raccoons.
Nothing we know, that is.
Dogs will chase squirrels and voles and rabbits, but it's just business as usual. Nothing personal.
But raccoons seem to bring out some primal hatred in dogs that turns them into spittle-flecked maniacs, and makes you realize that beneath your pet's lovable-goofus personality is bloodlust born of an ancient feud.
A few nights ago, our dog Birch bolted from the back stairs to the big tree, where I saw a huge striped beast going up the trunk. This guy was set for a long winter. He was so big that I could almost hear his belly slosh as he climbed. When he got to a fork in the branches, he peered down with aloof indifference at Birch, who was barking unceasingly.
I got out a flashlight to see if the raccoon had wandered up and away. They sometimes seem to climb up until they disappear from view entirely, a trick only otherwise accomplished by college administrators. But, no, there he was, glaring down at the dog and me.
Eventually, the dog calmed down and the peril passed, as they all do. We went inside so Birch could nurse his grievance — until he fell asleep.
A few hours later, he wanted to go out because Out is where dogs want to be, so they can decide that they would rather be In.
