Nooccar. What an interesting name that only our insanest of
engineering friends even remotely identified in a split nanosecond that only
someone like her would even measure. It’s raccoon backwards, and much of that
began with an insane childhood hunting with my dad in the wildwoods of Pennsylvania where, to
amuse me (or himself), he’d call all animals by their backwards’ names. We
hunted reed, yekrut, nooccar, and other insane animals that are definitely not
found anywhere near where my wife and I are actually bringing up our daughter: Arizona. The Sonoran Desert. The Grand Canyon, Mexico, and the Painted
Desert. Not to mention Meteor Crater where a supposed meteor crash
landed some eons ago, but really maybe people like my dad’s ancestors first
arrived on this planet.

Anyway, back to nooccar. My dad may be utterly crazy but I
love him, and there are some things he taught me and I instill those things to
my daughter. Nooccar is one of them. So Donna and I were shopping in Target one
evening, and we found a small dog toy that was a miniature raccoon. We
playfully waved it in Claire’s face and she reached up with her stubby little
baby hands and grabbed at the raccoon. It was in the dollar bin, so we tore the
small tag off it’s butt and gave it to her. Now she loves tags, and if we made
a tag doll, it would sell. She chews on tags and would find them anywhere on
anything at anytime. The raccoon lives in the Four Runner, and she plays with
him every morning. Somewhere along the line his name became nooccar. She loves
nooccar and we love her. This blog is not only about us but it’s about her. So
it’s noocar. That’s it. Stick a fork in me.