ZEKE & ME

Author’s Note: Zeke & Me was originally written for the enjoyment of friends and family; the retelling of probably the most memorable year of my teenage life while growing up on the farm in upstate New York. I was fourteen, my last year of junior high school. As it turns out … my most popular book so far.

PREVIEW

     I had just turned fourteen. It was my last year in Junior High School and I had made new friends since moving to the farm on West River Road two years before. The whole world around me, as well as my own body, was changing. It was exciting and also at times, scary. The Beatles hadn’t made it to the United States, but they were becoming quite to Rock and Roll sensation. While bikini clad girls danced on the California beaches, the Beach Boys were having Fun, Fun Fun while on a Surfin’ Safari. Ricky Nelson was a Lonely Teenager and Roy Orbison sang about a Pretty Woman. Rock & Roll played on American Bandstand every afternoon, and I listened to it all on my transistor radio.  It was the happiest summer of my life.

    It was also that year that I’d met a new friend. 

    He had four legs, a furry brown coat, and a long ringed-tail. He had a cold black nose and dark beady eyes surrounded by a black mask. He was the most curious of creatures, I was soon to discover, but above else he was to become my best friend, if you can consider an animal as such. We grew up together that summer, becoming inseparable, and creating memories that have lasted a lifetime.

     His name was Zeke.

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     We were getting ready to catch the bus for school. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his morning coffee before going off to work on the farm. Zeke suddenly ambled in after opening the unlocked screen door and stood up on his hind legs begging to climb up on Dad’s lap. With a little assistance from Dad he climbed up and began his curious chattering, setting his eyes on the cup of coffee, likely attracted by the strong smell. Curious, Dad took the cup and lowered it to where Zeke could see into it.

     As it is a habit with all coons, they have to handle everything first before consuming it, as if everything needed to be washed, even with a dish of milk. Zeke dipped both paws into the hot coffee and extracted them quickly, licking off the hot, tasty liquid. Dad laughed, but left the cup resting on his lap, letting Zeke sample it a second time. After deciding it was good to drink, Zeke tried to lift the cup with his paws and drink from it.  Obligingly, Dad assisted and Zeke got his first good taste of coffee; a habit, that from that point on, became a daily morning ritual.

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     We were working out in the fields baling hay.  Mom had gone to the P&C for some groceries with my sisters. Sometimes Zeke would come out and ride on the hay wagon while we stacked the bales that came out of the baler, but most of the time he stayed at home in the apple tree or slept on the stack of firewood in the mudroom.  From that vantage point he could reach the hook on the kitchen screen door.

     I don’t know how long it took for him to work up the nerve to commit a home invasion, but I imagine it hadn’t taken long, after watching us on several occasions unhook the door.  I wasn’t there when the break-in was discovered … but it wasn’t long after I got the word when my sister came out to get me in the field across the road.

     To this day I can still feel the fear I had when I stepped into the kitchen.  Mom was sitting on the bench seat behind the kitchen booth in the corner.  I remember seeing little coon tracks in the flour and sugar scattered over the floor.  A large jar of raw honey still in the comb lay opened on the countertop along with several bags of cereal (because we had such a large family we bought large bags of cereal in those days, not the boxes).  Pots and pans, bowls and broken glasses lay strewn on the floor and counter.  Most of the cupboard doors were open and the shelves emptied.  Cyclone Zeke and his sibling cohorts had hit with a vengeance.

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As a game warden, John was a reasonable sort of man, and once he heard the story about how I had acquired the coons he seemed to soften up a bit.  He told us that it was dangerous to keep wild animals, especially raccoons, that were susceptible to rabies, and even though they seemed tame, animals taken from the wild were still wild.  Zeke had come to join us and I was holding him in my arms, willing to fight to keep him if I had to … but the opportunity never presented itself.

     John agreed, at least in principle, that as long as we didn’t keep the coons locked up in cages, and they were free to leave anytime they wanted, there wasn’t much he could do about where they preferred to spend their days.  He did give me one warning … “I don’t want to see you riding through town with that coon in your basket.  Keep him close to home and away from others.  If he was to bite someone, I would have to have him put down … you got that?”

     It was harsh warning, but at least me and Zeke would still be together.  Dad assured John I’d do as I was told and we watched John drive back down the driveway and down the road. 

     I had a long talk with Zeke that evening.  He’d decided that over the last couple of weeks, sleeping in the tree with his siblings was more to his liking, and had decided to move out of my bedroom and the comforts of my bed. Being basically nocturnal, I had a hunch he and his four siblings were all going out in the evenings on their own, hunting like all wild raccoons do.  Sometimes they would come back with muddy feet and wet, full bellies.

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     Late that October, somewhere in the middle of the night, Zeke left.  No one heard him, but best I could tell, he climbed out my bedroom window and somehow made it to the ground.  None of us really knew for sure.  I went outside and searched the apple tree and around the barns, but found no sign of him. It was Sunday morning, and everyone was getting ready to go to church, but Mom and Dad agreed to let me stay home and continue my search for Zeke.

      I can still feel that deep sadness I felt that day.  I was sitting under the apple tree, half hoping Zeke would show up and things would be right again.  The sun was shining, and it was unusually warm for a late October.  I had searched the barns and outbuildings; I had walked down to the creek, but found no sign of Zeke.  As I sat there I knew the dreaded day had come. The sudden reality of the situation we had all feared brought a flood of tears to my eyes.  I don’t think I have ever cried that hard before. 

     Mom and Dad had tried their best to prepare me for that day.  We had talked about what it would be like for Zeke to someday find a mate and raise a family of his own.  I knew about all this stuff and tried to talk myself into believing Zeke was better off on his own without me, but no matter how hard I tried, the tears continued to fall, and would continue to do so for the next several days. The world around me seemed empty now and I felt a loneliness that seemed would never end, no matter how much consoling I got from the family.

     Zeke was gone and I would never see him again.