Al Kratz makes sandwiches for the raccoons. He'll wrap slices of stale toast around whatever is handy--leftovers, stale vegetables, discount groceries his wife Carol brings home. "They don't like cabbage or tomatoes," he explains, "but they're crazy about hot dogs." The raccoons come in the evening, out of the woods past the railroad tracks that border the Kratzes' backyard. Squirrels come too, gray and black ones, and the occasional fox. "Once I counted 27 raccoons," Al boasts, "all sitting around the picnic table munching... More >>>