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I always wanted to write a raccoon story. I don't know why. It's not like I want to own a raccoon or anything like that. I'm just fascinated by them.

I'd gone into that restaurant and sat down and the waitress had taken my order and everybody else had seen me with this what must have looked like this creature, this animal, sitting on the top of my head!

I was one of those kids who found it difficult to eat anything that looked like an animal.

The raccoons, foxes, beavers, chinchillas, minks, rabbits, and yes, sometimes even dogs and cats that are killed for fur are not very different from your beloved dog or cat. They all have eyes, ears and hearts. They all experience pain when they are physically maimed. They shake with fear when they experience terror.

I was obliged to stand there, holding the leash of this creature for their welcoming publicity shots, implying that this was some kind of image the decided to have of me.

For years, I've felt an obligation to harvest an animal, since all my life I've so mindlessly consumed them. But that was from the safety of my desk.

I'll eat anything. I ate antelope once in Swaziland. I didn't know what it was until I'd started chewing it. Everything tastes like chicken though doesn't it? It wasn't bad.

I had to make squirrel noises as Bubbles and without realizing it, I was making the face and putting my fingers up to my face to look like a squirrel and everyone made fun of me for the rest of the day.

It was kind of boring for me to have to eat. I would know that I had to, and I would.

We were playing a fair, and a few people were handing me stuffed animals and flowers, but one person handed me a paper sack. So I took all the stuff back to the bus. I put the sack in my lap and opened it, and a live iguana jumped out of the sack and onto my shirt. I screamed like a little girl!