Chance and coincidence play big parts in my life. Tabasco wasn’t my first raccoon orphan. Many years earlier, I was about to go on a little rubber boat ride for thousands of miles between Victoria, British Columbia and the Pribiloff Islands in the Bering Strait, Alaska when I was asked to care for Rocky Raccoon, my first orphan raccoon. Rocky came with me all the way and you can read his story in my book THERE’S A RACCOON IN MY PARKA.
So now I was just about to go on a promotion tour of Canada to tell people about Rocky Raccoon when I got Tabasco. I had no choice but to take her with me. This time we traveled by plane, many planes, wined and dined at the best hotels (well, baby Tabasco drank milk), and he was the star when we were interviewed by newspapers, radio shows and TV stations – in fact, in one TV show, all the cameras were focused on Tabasco, not Telly Savalas or other Hollywood actors and actresses on the show with us.
On our last plane ride before landing home in Vancouver, Tabasco was grown up enough to crawl out of his totebag home and wobble around my lap as I read THERE’S A RACCOON IN MY PARKA. The passenger in the seat beside me couldn’t believe it when Tabasco crawled out of his totebag and onto my lap. Imagine the story he told his wife when he got home!
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