For weeks, something had been terrorizing my turtles. Every morning I’d walk out to the pond and find the same signs—ripples in the water, overturned rocks, and deep claw marks in the mud. My turtles, usually eager to greet me, were hiding beneath logs and plants, terrified. I knew I had a predator on my hands, and if I didn’t act fast, one of my shelled friends would become its next meal.
At first, I tried to spot the culprit by waiting outside at night, but whatever it was moved silently and vanished before I could catch a glimpse. I found tracks—small, sharp, and unmistakably those of a raccoon. Clever, quick, and persistent. A raccoon could easily snatch a turtle right out of shallow water. That meant I had to be even smarter.
So I built a humane trap.
Using a sturdy cage, tuna bait, and a motion-activated camera, I set up a plan to catch the nighttime thief without harming it. The camera would let me see exactly what was going on, and the trap would keep both my turtles and the predator safe.
That night felt longer than any other. Around 2 a.m., the camera pinged my phone. I opened the video feed—and there it was. The raccoon crept toward the pond, sniffing the air, eyes glowing in the darkness. It went straight for the trap. My heart pounded as it nudged the door, hesitated, and then stepped inside for the tuna.
Snap!
The door closed.
The raccoon froze, then scrambled around for a moment before settling down. It wasn’t hurt—just confused. Early the next morning, I carefully approached the trap. Seeing the little bandit up close, I realized it was just trying to survive like any wild animal. I decided to relocate it to a forest preserve several miles away, far from any backyard ponds—and definitely far from my turtles.
When I returned home, the pond was calm again. The turtles were already poking their heads out from under the lily pads, basking in the sun as if nothing had happened. Peace had finally returned.
