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The Creature From the Black Lagoon Invaded Our House (No Really!)

The dog bowl sat empty as if someone had dusted every crumb from the bottom. I thought I’d left a cup at the bottom of the quart sized dish before we disappeared for a weekend getaway.

Maybe I’d been mistaken.

Hershey, our five -pound superpup, squatted next to his bowl stared at me with his irresistible, hope-filled eyes. I filled the quart-sized bowl so full a few stray pieces bounced across the wood floor.

One of the perks of having a small dog is this bowl will last a month, I thought.

The next morning, the bowl sat empty. Maybe I only dreamed of filling the bowl. Maybe I’d been so tired from the trip my memory had blurred. I’d been sleep deprived after all.

The following morning, the bowl sat empty again. Who or what was consuming a quart of dog food each night in our home? 

Time to get my Nancy Drew on. I kept on an eye on Hershey and the bowl throughout the day. When I tucked myself into bed, the bowl remained nearly full. Our superpup snuggled next to me throughout the night.

The next morning. Empty again.

I wanted to raise the issue with Leif, but I knew he’d think I suffered from:

Cray Cray Syndrome—a common affliction among couples who have been married more than a decade and know each other are cray cray but love each other anyway.

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Perhaps I’d been bested by a case of the wild imaginations.

Before I turned the light off that night, I popped out of bed and snapped a photo of the brimming dog food bowl.

The next morning. Empty again.

I took another photo as proof.

Leif remained unconvinced. Maybe Hershey had managed to sneak out of the room in the middle of the night and eat a bowl dog food bigger than him while I slept sound.

Maybe I had snuck out of the bedroom and eaten the bowl of dog food. Ambien can make a person engage in weird midnight activities.

The question still remained. What could consume this much dog food?

Hmmm. Colorado is famed for its raccoons. Those bandits are known for being quiet, stealth, and clever.

Leif and I began scouring the house—flipping over chairs and couches, climbing into the attic, banging on walls to try to find the nest.

Nothing.

That’s when Cray Cray Syndrome got the best of me. I made Leif go to Best Buy and purchase a nighttime, motion-activated camera so we could see THE CULPRIT in action.

Leif sat up for three hours trying to get the camera to work. He climbed into bed at 1am and watched the dogfood thief spring into action on his iphone.

“Look at this!” he nudged.

I was braced to see the first images of the 40-pound monster raccoon from the black lagoon who had built a condo in the walls of our home.

That’s when I looked in the beady eyes of the culprit. The creature wasn’t what we expected.

(RSS Subscribers, click here to view.) 

My favorite part of the video is Leif’s legs. (I’m biased.)

Yes. This little guy managed to empty the bowl of dog food every night one piece at a time. He made hundreds of trips back and forth to somewhere in our home we still can’t find. But we know about 10 pounds of dog food hides in our walls somewhere waiting to be found by a pack of wild raccoons.

Quite a holiday surprise.

We won’t tell you how the video ends. You can guess in the comment section below.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Well, maybe one.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas!

*Original Photo Source

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