(US) When Raccoons Attack

[Guest guest]

[Posters note: Field & Stream is a hunting and fishing magazine. The info

given in this article, although concerning rabid raccoons, is of interest on

the general subject of rabies.]

.................................

When Raccoons Attack

A close call with rabies brings an epidemic to light.

Field & Stream Magazine

by Jim Thornton

(Undated, 2006)

 

At 9:30 on a sunny July morning, the screaming starts: a ragged, half-human

keen that pierces the halcyon woods flanking our western Pennsylvania home.

My wife, Debbie, our 11-year-old son, Jack, and I run outside to see what’s

being murdered. There, beside a patch of Big Boy tomatoes, stand our two

pugs, Lefty and Biscuit, with something scruffy and feral wedged between

them. It takes a moment to realize what exactly is happening. A 20-pound

raccoon has affixed its teeth to the jowly flesh of Biscuit’s muzzle and

won’t let go.

 

I grab a shovel and pin the raccoon’s torso to the ground, which only

intensifies the creature’s screams. Putting my full weight into it, I try to

shovel the attacking beast in half. Debbie grabs Biscuit’s trunk and tries

to yank her free, but the raccoon’s teeth refuse to unclamp. Debbie yells

for our friend Rudy Plese, who’s inside working on a carpentry job. He runs

out and grabs another shovel.

 

“Hit it on the head,” shouts Debbie, whose own hands are now perilously

close to the raccoon’s teeth. Rudy raps the beast’s brainpan once, then

again, and again.

 

“Whack it harder,” I say, trying my best to snap its spine with my own

shovel. A half dozen hits later, the raccoon finally surrenders its death

grip on Biscuit, who skedaddles loose, her normally curly tail straightened

from trauma. Now that Rudy finally has a clean shot, he gives the raccoon

two more blows to the head. Finally, its eyes bulge, blood spurts from its

nostrils, and the demon dies.

 

Jack, Debbie, and I all cradle Biscuit, trying to calm her. She’s soaking

wet, and the three of us have been thoroughly slimed. A call to the

Allegheny County Health Department confirms our worst fears: The source of

this moisture is almost certainly raccoon saliva. Debbie takes Biscuit to

the vet for a rabies booster shot. Jack and I pack the raccoon in a garbage

bag, surround its head with a bag of ice cubes to preserve the brain tissue,

and drive it into Pittsburgh for testing.

 

Later that same afternoon, we receive a call from the lab. The raccoon has,

in fact, tested positive for rabies. All four of us will need to go to the

emergency room for evaluation.

 

Horrible and Fatal

 

Rabies comes from a Latin word meaning “to rage”—an apropos description of

the thrashing, hyperventilating death throes of victims of so-called

“furious” rabies. There’s also “dumb” rabies, a less sensational death to

watch, though no doubt equally unpleasant to suffer, which is characterized

by apathy, depression, paralysis, and coma. Either way, after the symptoms

arise, rabies is incurable and virtually 100 percent fatal.

 

The disease is caused by a nasty, bullet-shaped virus in the Rhabdoviridae

family. Once inside the bloodstream, the virus invades and eventually

overwhelms the brain and central nervous system. These microscopic

miscreants are capable of infecting all warm-blooded hosts, including

humans, though their most common victims in the United States today are wild

animals, particularly raccoons, skunks, foxes, bats, feral cats, and

coyotes.

 

Each year, 7,000 to 9,000 such critters test positive for rabies, though

this surely represents only the iceberg’s tip. Nationally, almost half the

positives come from infected raccoons. In the Mid-Atlantic states, which are

currently in the throes of an unprecedented raccoon rabies epidemic, the

rate is closer to 90 percent.

 

Rabies spreads from one animal to another through infected saliva, which

accumulates in great foaming gobs once the virus paralyzes a victim’s throat

muscles. Bites from infected raccoons have led to an increasingly bizarre

array of affected animals. Just this summer, a black bear in Centre County,

Pennsylvania, tested positive. In Georgia, rabid beavers have attempted to

jump into fishermen’s boats, and rabid whitetail bucks have been spotted

harassing horses and even chasing hunting dogs.

 

Spreading Like the Plague

 

The contemporary epidemic in raccoons dates back to the 1970s. In an effort

to replenish depleted stocks in the Mid-Atlantic region, more than 3,500

raccoons were live-trapped in Florida and transplanted to West Virginia.

Unfortunately, some of these animals carried presymptomatic rabies and ended

up starting a chain reaction that wildlife health officials are still

contending with today. “The raccoon strain of rabies is known to travel

approximately 10 times faster than any other type,” says Jason Suckow,

director of wildlife services in Pennsylvania for the USDA’s Animal and

Plant Health Inspection Service. “It’s really unfortunate that those animals

were transplanted, because once they arrived, raccoon rabies was able to

spread in all directions along the Appalachian mountains.”

 

If federal, state, and local authorities had unlimited resources, they could

blanket the entire Mid-Atlantic region with baits containing oral rabies

vaccine, bringing the epidemic to a halt in a matter of years. But because

of budgetary concerns—each bait costs $1.23—the current plan is necessarily

more modest: establish a baiting corridor beginning at Lake Erie and running

south along the Pennsylvania-Ohio border, through West Virginia and

Tennessee, and down into Alabama. Once the spread of raccoon-strain rabies

has been halted on the western side of this barrier, the idea is to

gradually roll the curtain eastward toward the Atlantic Ocean.

 

When we arrive at the ER late on the afternoon of our own exposure, we get

some good news and some bad news. Thanks in large part to the aggressive

vaccination of domesticated animals, human deaths from rabies have dropped

precipitously since the 1940s when such measures first became mandatory.

 

The fact that none of us were bitten this morning is further cause for

guarded reassurance. On the other hand, skin exposure to the saliva has been

known to cause infections through cuts and tiny abrasions. When I mention

that Jack and I both have colds and that we might have rubbed our eyes after

petting Biscuit, the doctor says this is another possible means of

transmission.

 

Given our circumstances, he says, the choice to undergo a preventive series

of shots remains up to us. But if he were in our shoes, he wouldn’t hesitate

to get the shots.

 

We agree, especially after he explains that the agonizing stomach shots most

people still fear haven’t been used for 30 years. To our great relief,

today’s treatment is infinitely less draconian. On the first day we will

begin with intramuscular injections of immune globulin, a thick concoction

of antibodies that jump-starts an immune response to any potential rabies

virus in our blood. Rudy and I each get four of these shots deep in the

muscles of our thighs and butts. Debbie and Jack, who weigh less, get three

and two shots respectively. The injections are a little painful but not

unbearable. Then we each receive an additional single shot of live rabies

vaccine in the shoulder. This contains a genetically altered virus designed

to trigger our immune systems to begin producing our own natural antibodies

to the disease.

 

Over the next 28 days, the doctor says, we’ll need to come back four more

times on a precise schedule to receive additional doses of vaccine. It’s

reassuring to learn that no human who’s adhered to such post-exposure

treatment has ever come down with rabies. The main downside is some

temporary muscle tenderness in the injection sites and the arguably more

painful financial burden of the shot series, which comes to an estimated

$1,500 per individual.

 

Back home that night, I’m thankful for the latest medical advances but

conclude that, all in all, it would have been better to have avoided this

morning’s encounter altogether.

 

Rabies: Prevention and Treatment

 

Always give a wide berth to any creature acting strangely. Raccoons, for

instance, are normally nocturnal. If you spot one out in the daytime, it’s a

definite red flag for illness.

 

Never tempt wildlife with food. Feed your dogs inside the house and use

tamperproof garbage cans to secure refuse. “During hunting and fishing

trips,” says San Julian, “don’t throw that good fish grease from the frying

pan right next to the campfire. That smell is definitely going to linger and

tempt raccoons. It’s much better to put the grease in a can and treat it as

garbage.”

 

Make sure your pets’ vaccinations are up to date. Practically speaking, your

dog is much more likely to run into a rabid animal than you are. If your

dog’s vaccination status is current, the rabies virus won’t be able to

leapfrog from raccoon to dog to you.

 

If you or your dog do end up getting attacked, most states allow you to kill

the wild animal regardless of hunting season. Take the remains to the local

county health department for testing ASAP. Because a rabies diagnosis

requires sampling brain tissue, do not shoot the animal in the head. Chill

the head with bags of ice, but do not freeze the brain. If the test comes

back positive, you’ll definitely need to see your doctor for specific

treatment advice.

 

The rabies virus can live up to several hours after leaving the host. During

this time period, limit exposure to any potential source of the virus, such

as saliva on your dog’s coat. If you do have direct skin contact with saliva

or blood, wash immediately with soap and water, then see your doctor.

 

Immediately after any attack, take your dog to a veterinarian for evaluation

and a possible rabies booster shot. If the raccoon or other animal tests

positive, your dog will likely be quarantined on your property for a period

of several months even if its vaccination status is current. If your dog

hasn’t been vaccinated, it may need to be euthanized.

 

Err on the side of caution. If there’s any doubt about potential exposure,

get treated. The shots, as I’ve learned firsthand, really aren’t that bad.

Death by rabies, on the other hand, is as horrific as you can imagine. On

the plus side, once you have been vaccinated, you’ll be invulnerable for a

number of years to future attacks.

 

http://www.fieldandstream.com/fieldstream/columnists/article/0,13199,724624,00.h\

tml