Bandit, what a raccoon. It was cool watching him wash his hands and food.
I remember that he loved super sugar crisps.
But the memory I will never forget was him chasing us across the "log fence" that went across the creek.
Brett and I scurrying up the hill leaving Chad behind to fend for himself. I think Chad even fell in the creek, but I'm not sure.
Good old Bandit.
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My dad (your grandpa gordon) died when I was 11. There wasn't a lot of time to collect stories from him, but one I do remember was his boyhood recollection of a raccon he named Bandit. His Bandid was not welcomed into the family dwelling like our Bandit was -- but Dad said there was a hole in their kitchen door screen and Bandit would visit and stick his little black hand through the screen to receive sugar cubes from him. Of course, Bandit is a probably a pretty common name for raccoons - but Dad's story was why our Bandit was called that name and not Ozzie, Joe, or Tom. Our Bandit also loved cold uncooked hot dogs. The racoon was returned to Trafalgar from our Indianapolis home when he figured out how to open his cage and climbed the curtain in Mom and Dad's bedroom!
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