The skull is not crushed. The left leg is broken. 2 or 3 cervical are dislocated but the ears are clear. A Volvo radial got him just across the shoulders. He must have been about 4 months old, already a bandit. I saw him climb down his oak before he could do it. Pop. My raccoon is dead. I’m sad but smile at its limp beauty. His paws and mask match. I’ll dissect the ears and larynx. George, in Physical Therapy, gets the hands (paws). Larry can look at the brain. The forelimb section on the pre- central gyrus should be neat. Speech Path can have the tongue; Sparky a new pelt. He cleaned his food in the dark of last night’s moon. Coon meat for Plummer. He’ll stew it with sweet spuds, tell me it’s the best he’s ever eaten. Should at least be tender, no dog scare or shot. Garrett gets the tail for his 1951 Merc. Daddy gets a few baby raccoon oyster pearls for his tooth col- lection. It stared at me on my jog this morning. The skull will join a cluster of road kill bleached bones, placed in a Cree Indian style totem to the carless Nirvana.