As dusk fell over the city, the chickens ducked inside their coop. Their owner (farmer, homesteader, urbanite?) leaves his warm home to brave the frigid air; closing the coop, keeping out predators. As he approached the fence surrounding the chicken run, he scans the area with his flashlight. There, glaring with his glowing eyes in a tree above the fence, was a small raccoon. Its ears were perked up and it tilted its head as the light hit his face, as if he wondered what this bigger animal was.
The owner, wanting to protect his chickens, yelled at the raccoon, “Hey! Get outta here!”
The raccoon didn’t move. It continued its stare, as if he’s evening was becoming more interesting with this new guest upon his territory. Amused.
Desperate, the owner searched along the ground for something, anything to throw at the raccoon. Not far from his feet was a heave flagstone. He heaved it at the raccoon. The flagstone missed its mark completely, striking the chicken wire and ripping it off the fence post.
The raccoon, remained amused.
The owner gave up on scaring the raccoon, instead wanting to keep the chickens safe by closing the coop door. He entered the chicken run with the raccoon still overhead. He slowly walked towards the coop while flicking the flashlight up to the raccoon and down to the coop, constantly vigilant for an attack. The raccoon silently watched. He finally got to the coop and closed the door, latching the two locks meant to keep out clever predators. The raccoon continued to watch. He walked out of the chicken run, latching the fence gate as the raccoon continued to watch.
He went back to his warm home, hoping the chickens survive the night.