How raccoons won my heart and inspired my activism

Years ago, I received a call about a sick raccoon in a homeowner’s front yard. At the time, I was a relatively new wildlife rescuer, and this would be my first raccoon rescue. I was unprepared for what I encountered.

The raccoon was in profound distress. His body was painfully emaciated, his fur patchy and unkempt, and his movements suggested significant neurological impairment. As I approached, the situation became even more devastating: he had gnawed at his own front leg until muscle and ligaments were exposed. I was stunned by the severity of his suffering, my heart ached for this animal whose life had been reduced to pain and confusion.

This was my first encounter with an animal in the late stages of canine distemper, and it fundamentally reshaped my focus as a rescuer. Canine distemper is a highly contagious viral disease affecting a wide range of mammalian species. It causes severe systemic illness and is almost always fatal. Clinical signs may include discharge from the eyes and nose, respiratory distress, coughing, pneumonia, fever, neurological symptoms, anorexia, and progressive cognitive decline. Animals can suffer for days or even weeks before succumbing to the virus.

Racoon trapped in dumpster for over 48 hours.

Raccoon from dumpster being released after rescue.

When I am able to intervene in cases of distemper, I consider it a meaningful success. In these situations, rescue does not mean recovery—it means preventing prolonged suffering and ensuring the animal receives humane, compassionate euthanasia rather than enduring a slow and painful death in the wild. Because raccoons are highly social animals, this intervention also plays an important role in limiting the spread of disease within their communities.

In addition to rescue, for several years, I served as a sub-permittee wildlife rehabilitator with the Ohio Wildlife Center. In this role, I worked as a home-care volunteer and established an in-home nursery for orphaned raccoon kits as part of a program developed by OWC. It was during this time that my deep respect for—and affection toward—raccoons truly took root.

At their most vulnerable, these kits arrive having experienced profound trauma. Many have witnessed the death of their mother or siblings. They are often burdened with parasites, weakened by starvation, injured, and deeply frightened. I have observed a wide range of stress responses: frightened raccoons may vocalize loudly, display defensive aggression, urinate or defecate, and—most strikingly—I have seen juveniles cover their faces with their small hands, as if attempting to disappear.

Homecare raccoon orphans

The causes of their suffering are frequently linked to human activity. Mothers who seek warmth and safety in attics to give birth are trapped and euthanized by pest control companies. Others are struck by vehicles, attacked by dogs, caught in traps, or poisoned. By the time the kits reach us, they are often completely depleted.

At their best, however, kits arrive with one or two siblings, uninjured and not separated from their mother for long. These youngsters thrive. One of the most rewarding aspects of home care is watching a hungry baby eagerly finish a bottle of formula, then topple over with a round, full belly and fall into a deep, contented sleep. Like the dogs and cats who share our homes, play is central to their development. Everything becomes a toy—another raccoon’s tail, food, cat toys, splashing in water—and they are relentless climbers.

Raccoons are remarkably social animals, and I have repeatedly observed their willingness to accept non-biological siblings as their own. On one occasion, I cared for two healthy male kits for several days before introducing a singleton female. The males were well-adjusted; the female was deeply traumatized. She spent her first days hiding in a corner, resisting handling and refusing to feed from a bottle.

Almost immediately, one of the males assumed a protective role. Whenever I approached her, he would rush to her side, rise onto his hind legs, and spread his forepaws wide, positioning himself between us as if to shield her. Bottle feeding was clearly not an option. Instead, we reached a compromise: she would lap formula from a shallow bowl, guarded closely by her self-appointed protector.

My fellow rehabber Chrisite Allman shares the following story:

I’ve raised a lot of raccoons now; each one is unique and comes with their own trauma. Raccoons are very family oriented animals and the kits stay with their moms for 8 months up to a full year, so when you end up with an orphaned raccoon you have more than just their physical needs to attend to. It is built into them to be close to others, and there are many cases of them struggling to grow and thrive due to their emotional needs not being fulfilled. 

One such case that is a great example of this is a kit that came to me because her mother and sibling were hit by a car. As they often do, she stayed with their bodies by the side of the road and luckily someone saw her and pulled over and rescued her. At the time when I got her, I didn’t have any other kits in my care, so I got some stuffed animals to put in the cage, so she didn’t feel alone.  Usually this will help when you have a single baby, and they will cuddle up with them in their bed. This girl was not having it. For days, she screamed in her cage and she would barely eat. She pushed every stuffed animal I tried out of her bed and would push them into the corner of her cage. I wanted to get her out and comfort her, but as rehabbers there is a very fine line we can’t cross and raccoons imprint easily. It’s never good to have a single raccoon, but I’ve never had one do this. She screamed so much she actually started to get hoarse. 

After a few days I finally got more babies. I felt bad for the babies, but I was so grateful for my single girl. Unfortunately, they came to me after a huge storm and someone found them washed up by a drain, so there was no way to try to reunite with their mom because you couldn’t figure out where her den would be. So, I brought them home, and my little girl completely changed. She squeaked and trilled at them, and they accepted her immediately. She started eating normally right after that, she started sleeping normally, and her weight finally started going up. 

Christies' babies "now I have a friend!"

As they all grew, she was always a bit smaller and because of this she started climbing later than they did. One day, the two bigger ones climbed all the way to the top of the bigger cage I had moved them all into and she lost sight of them. She cried and ran around until one of them started to climb down and chattered to her. 

Eventually they all got to go to prerelease together, and they were released together. There are documented cases of raccoons denning together with their family over multiple years, so I imagine she is still glued to one of them to this day. 

Raccoons are such complex and emotional creatures, which is why I love working with them. They challenge me, and I am grateful to be able to help them and help others see that they aren’t “trash animals”. I hope this story helps highlight that. 

Wildlife rescue exists at the intersection of science, ethics, and compassion. It requires us to make difficult decisions—often ones that do not result in survival, but in dignity. True rescue is not defined solely by release back into the wild, but by the alleviation of suffering. 

Rehabilitative care for orphaned young offers a second chance at lives often interrupted by human impact. In both cases, the work is grounded in respect—for the animal, for the ecosystem, and for the shared spaces where humans and wildlife coexist.

Raccoons, with their intelligence, social bonds, and remarkable resilience, continually remind me that our role as rescuers is not one of control, but of stewardship. When we choose empathy over indifference, and responsibility over convenience, we strengthen the health of our communities—both wild and human—and reaffirm our obligation to coexist. 

Kelly has been volunteering at the Ohio Wildlife Center for 19 years. When she’s not wrangling raccoons, she’s teaching yoga at the studio she co-owns with her sister. Check out her Instagram for some fun rescues she’s been part of over the years.

IG: mehring_way

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