Early Tuesday morning, a police officer shot and killed a mountain lion in downtown Salt Lake City. Witnesses said the animal charged, forcing the officer to defend himself and others.
I don’t know all the facts of the matter (and odds are, neither do you),but from what I read I probably would have shot the animal as well. Or tried to.
Note: A gun might not have done me any good. Mountain lions are scary, especially when up close and pissed off. It’s damn hard to aim while going to the bathroom in one’s pants.
During my time as a cop, I probably shot a hundred animals. Most of them were injured by traffic; lots of deer, but also a few dogs, a couple of elk and a bunch of cows.
Oh, and about 500 carp (ammo testing at the lake), which I don’t really count because that’s why God made them.
All of my animal killing was 20 to 30 years ago, long before they started sending ambulances and get-well cards to injured cats.
The scariest animal I ever confronted as a cop wasn’t a mountain lion, a bear, wolves, Big Foot or some other apex predator, of which there are plenty in Utah.
IfI had seen any of these, I believe the sensible thing to do would have been to remain in the patrol car with the windows rolled up.
If the animal approached within 200 yards, I would flee with all emergency equipment activated. It’s what we in the business referred to as “Code3-Romeo” or “lights and siren retreat.”
But that’s just me. As a personal rule, I do not get close to animals large enough to have their way with me, especially the kind with claws and pointy teeth.
Back to the scariest animal I ever confronted during my law enforcement career. You’ll laugh, I know, but I’m not kidding. We’re talking serious evil.
Raccoons. I HATED the sons-of-[w]itches. Still do, in fact. And before you start that noise about range encroachment by humans, understand that raccoons are not indigenous to Utah. In short, WE were here first. They’re the ones doing the habitat encroaching.
Unlike dogs and a cow, no raccoon ever bit me. None even attacked me. But that didn’t make them any less scary or infuriating.
One night I got a call of a burglary in progress. When I arrived, the terrified woman insisted there was someone, possibly even a serial killer, in her basement. I heard the noise, too, so something was down there.
I went down the stairs hand on gun. When a raccoon popped up and screeched, I almost shot it. It tore around the room trying to get out. I considered hitting it with a chair but the woman said it was an antique.
Eventually, the raccoon left of its own accord the same way it got in — through a pet door.
Things like this kept happening. A raccoon in a tree once touched the top of my head while I breathlessly waited in the shadows for burglary suspect to exit a business. I was blind (and incontinent) for two days.
Then there was the “unknown disturbance” call with blood all over a driveway. What appeared to be a homicide scene turned out to be wiener dog who picked (and lost) a fight with a raccoon.
Add in the number of “shots fired” calls I rolled on (because residents fed up with raccoons sorting through their garbage decided to take matters into their own hands with a deer rifle), and you can see why raccoons have shaved years off the end of my life.
I don’t know about the officer who shot the mountain lion, but I do know that any raccoon I see now will definitely be interpreted as charging at me.
