Raccoon Facts For Kids

    for kids
  • 4Kids Entertainment (commonly known as 4Kids) is a Worldwide International American film and television production company. It is known for English-dubbing Japanese anime, specializing in the acquisition, production and licensing of children's entertainment around the United States.
  • The Sport Ju-Jutsu system for kids is designed to stimulate movement and to encourage the kids natural joy of moving their bodies. The kids train all exercises from Sport Ju-Jutsu but many academys leave out punches and kicks for their youngest athlethes.
  • Virtual Stadium Tours
  • Raccoon is a 19-minute, 2006 short film directed by Trey Nelson. The film stars Jonathan Togo and Ben Curtis.
  • an omnivorous nocturnal mammal native to North America and Central America
  • A grayish-brown American mammal that has a foxlike face with a black mask and a ringed tail
  • the fur of the North American racoon
  • The fur of the raccoon
  • Used in discussing the significance of something that is the case
  • (fact) an event known to have happened or something known to have existed; "your fears have no basis in fact"; "how much of the story is fact and how much fiction is hard to tell"
  • (fact) a piece of information about circumstances that exist or events that have occurred; "first you must collect all the facts of the case"
  • A piece of information used as evidence or as part of a report or news article
  • A thing that is indisputably the case
  • (fact) a statement or assertion of verified information about something that is the case or has happened; "he supported his argument with an impressive array of facts"
raccoon facts for kids raccoon facts for kids - Schleich Racoon
Schleich Racoon 14604
Schleich Racoon 14604
Raccoons are masked mammals with gray bodies ending in ringed tails.
Raccoons are curious omnivores that enjoy the security of trees. Living with their parents, offspring, or bachelor groups, these mammals are nocturnal and have heightened senses. Ringtails are able to hear very quiet noises such as an earthworm digging underground. Their sense of touch is excellent underwater since their paws are more pliable when wet. Their sense of smell is keenly tuned to the scents of other raccoons. Although they are colorblind and have poor long distance vision, their other senses make up for this lack. These clever animals are able to figure out how to open locks as well as recall this task for up to three years. Possibly living up to twenty years and weighing approximately twenty pounds, raccoons are successful animals, eating almost anything, anywhere.
Fun Facts: Raccoons "wash" their food before they eat it by submerging it in water and removing unwanted pieces.
Zoological Name: Procyon lotor
Conservation Status: Common
Primary Habitat: Forest
Global Home: Americas

Kirigami Note
Kirigami Note
A thank-you note from our paper carrier, that is, the young man who delivers our newspaper. (I understand from missus oschene that when we pay our bill, we are given the opportunity to tip the carrier. Some of our carriers have been pretty poor at it and I have usually viewed this tip as just so much protection money. But we find this carrier conscientious and well-deserving of a tip.) He had a nice write-up in the paper, this weekend. --- After years of work struggles, autistic man finds meaning in a job well done By Suzanne Wilson NORTHAMPTON - In his light blue winter parka, jeans, white Nikes, and brown knit cap, Jonathan Weinmann moves quickly from house to house in the pre-dawn darkness along Fort Street in Northampton. A big bag, packed with newspapers, is slung across his chest. Weinmann, who lives on nearby South Street, has an excellent memory for keeping track of who gets the paper and exactly where and how they like to have it delivered. Inside the porch door. Outside on the top step. Rolled up. Not rolled up. In a plastic sleeve. Not in a sleeve. "Everyone is totally different," he says. Six days a week, he delivers about 230 papers. The exact number varies. "Maybe they're away visiting relatives or taking a nice long trip to another country," he explains as skips a customer's house on this Monday morning. Every morning, Weinmann gets a printout of any changes on his route. "I look at it once or twice and that's it," he said. "I don't forget much." Numbers and facts It's actually a bit more than not forgetting. Jonathan Weinmann, 39, was diagnosed with autism when he was 2. From an early age, he's had a thing about numbers and facts. One day at around age 3, before he'd even said mama, he was sitting at the dinner table with family and relatives. He suddenly started counting backwards, from 20 to 1. "All of us went dead silent," his mother recalled. "And then he never talked again for two years." When he was about 7, he watched an episode of "Hollywood Squares" one night on TV. After it was over, he recited the entire show from memory, commercials and all. In the grocery store, he'd watch his mother toss items into the cart and keep a running tab in his head. At the register, he'd announce the pre-tax total, to the penny. Music was, and is, a passion. At 12, he got a subscription to Billboard magazine, which he still gets every week. Thanks to Billboard, he is a student of pop music history and can give you the details of any song's progress up and down the charts. How about "Baby Love," he was asked. It was No. 1 in 1964, he said, spent 12 weeks on the charts, four weeks at the top. Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean:" No. 1 for seven week in 1983, he said. How about Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know?" Two weeks at No. 1 in 1986, he said. "It was definitely February." Ten years and counting On April 1, Jonathan Weinmann will mark his 10-year anniversary delivering the Daily Hampshire Gazette. Before he got the job, he'd tried others that hadn't worked out. He'd been a dishwasher at Amherst College, but he had difficulty with the commotion and noise and distractions. "It was a tough job and I just couldn't handle it," he said. In March 2002, Weinmann got a phone call from Kate Cook Scott, a customer service representative at the Gazette who wanted to talk to him about the job application he'd filled out several months earlier. Would he be interested in delivering the paper on Fort Hill Terrace? "I said, 'Yes I would,' " he recalled recently. She was very nice, he said, and together they went over to Fort Hill to scope things out. They walked the route and Cook showed him which houses on the street got the paper. "I got the job," he said. His first day was April 1, 2002, he said, and on that day he delivered 23 papers. "I liked it," he said. "It was something to do and it was nice to get out of the house. I also thought it was nice to get paid for doing a job." His first paycheck, he said, was for a little over $10. Ten years on, Weinmann's routes have expanded to include neighborhoods and side streets all along South Street. In all that time, he has rarely missed a day. He has never overslept. He knows his streets inside and out, having learned where there are cracks and bumps in the pavement that can trip him up. Snow and ice are occupational hazards. On the Monday morning after last Halloween's freak storm had torn through the area, Weinmann was out delivering the paper, making his way through the pitch dark. With the streetlights out, he carried a flashlight, threading his way over and around fallen trees and broken branches and downed wires. "It was one of the toughest days of my life," he said. His record for falling on slippery pavement is seven times in one day. One time after he fell his ankle
My neighbor, the Holy Man
My neighbor, the Holy Man
Premise: among us, there are those who make their way in the world, sometimes helping, sometimes teaching, sometimes merely demonstrating "right livelihood" by their conduct. For want of a better name, they are called "Holy". Someone asked me to submit a photo to their "Holy Men" group--and it got me thinking about that label. First of all, I'd be inclined to guess that there are more holy women than holy men, but that's a thought for another day. Recently a philosophical discussion evolved into "who are the greatest living spirit guides among us?" I proposed that the greatest would avoid fame and notoriety, and would be a common person--perhaps a teacher, farmer, shopkeeper, maybe even unemployed--but someone who is a shining spark of spirit that radiates outward, a lighthouse lens candling a beacon to the world around--and doing it quietly, never drawing any attention to themselves. We'll know him, paradoxically, by virtue of the fact that we don't know him. Well, my comrades shot this theory down--surely a powerful positive influence would create that cult of personality--like the Dalai Lama or Obama or Kevin Costner or somebody. My rebuttal centered on my description of my late neighbor, Don. From Michael Jordan to the Bhagwan, Bono to the Dalai Lama, I've been fortunate to have photographed some soulful leaders of our time, and Don comes out looking very good along with them, yet without the material aspects of their fame, holding onto his privacy and freedom. Don lived aboard his boat in my moorage, and was like the Pied Piper to all the animals around. He had no "pets"--but an adoring menagerie of "wild" animals who hovered around him, like a latter day St. Francis. He was the "retired" bridge operator on the Interstate Bridge, but still filled in, opening and closing the drawbridge on the span--so that shipping could navigate the river, and then restoring the freeway so that traffic could make the north/south journey between Oregon and Washington. I always liked the allegorical notion of that job--like the threshold "guardian" of myth, who blocks passage to an extraordinary world until the hero answers his riddle. "Riddle me this, riddle me that, gatekeeper," I said to Don, and he replied, "What is it that you can keep after giving it to someone else? --Your word." He was the bridgekeeper, and he was also the Master Scrounger. He'd fill his camper truck with on-sale, day-old bread to feed his critters. The gulls would wheel overhead in the sky at his approach. When the kids wanted to fish, I'd send them to Don's boathouse--the waters there teamed with carp, squawfish, bass and perch. Big raccoons shared his boathouse storage shelves. The moorage operators chided him for breaking rules about feeding the wildlife, but he ignored them. He was part of nature, too. I kept my word to Don, and didn't put him in the newspaper, even though I knew he was a great story. But his wife, Jean, began to write a guest column for the Islander, the little neighborhood paper. A bad winter storm hit, and much of the moorage was evacuated. But Don insisted he had to feed the animals, and began a tight-rope walk atop the railings and guidewires of the half-submerged ramp. On shore, it probably seemed do-able, but over the rushing current of frigid water, he froze--unable to move forward, unwilling to go back. Stuck. At a loss for anything else to do--Jean took pictures. Firemen rescued him. Don was mortified when Jean's pictures ran that week in the Islander. Shortly after that, Don and Jean ended decades of living aboard for a land house. I figure, anyone you meet on the river, you'll likely encounter again. It's true. And conversely, after Don moved ashore, I never saw him again. One day, in the Obits, I saw a small item. Three short sentences telling me that longtime Portland resident Don Stinson had died. Hmmmm...well, the paper sure missed that story, I thought.