raccoons be crazy. or is it me?

Once again instead of walking the trash to the dumpster right away, I left it outside my front door overnight. And once again, a raccoon got into it leaving a huge, disgusting mess for me to clean up. I could shake my little fists at the sky and curse the deceptively adorable ball of filthy fur. But what good would that do?

A raccoon will be a raccoon. It will get hungry and look for things to eat. When it finds things to eat, it will use its tiny, fierce claws and teeth to tear apart whatever contains the treasures. It will get what it needs.

I can't fault the little critter for that and even if I could, I can't change its behavior; it would be silly of me to do anything other than expect it to behave like a large scavenging rodent. All I can do is look at my own part in the situation and change my behavior so that I can get what I need. Solution: straight to the dumpster next time.

Thanks, scoundrel teacher, for the life lesson/terribly obvious metaphor for relationships of all kinds. I owe you a snack.