My father, Karl Staddon, and his sister Caroline in the mid 1960s.

Dad would often tell me and my sister stories about his childhood. Our favorite stories involved the pet raccoons he had.

Growing up on a farm in Ontario, he often came across abandoned raccoon litters; their mothers were likely killed by farmers or on the nearby highway.

Through the summer he would raise them, releasing them in the fall with a single red string above their paw, just in case he saw them later.

Although there were many adventures and misadventures with raccoons, the most memorable story shared by my aunts was this one:

My father had managed to walk a few kilometers into town with his raccoon on a leash, and then saw a parade happening! So of course, he joined in the parade so spectators could see!

Moments after the parade finished, a town official hastily told him raccoons were not meant to be pets and to take it home immediately.

Back home he walked, pulling a rather disgruntled raccoon. ~shared by @brittanys89