They'd just sit there and say, "Oh, the poor thing. He sounds like he has the flu." Then he'd keel over and the women would cry all night about it. And if my wife was one of the women, she'd call me, and the dialogue would go like this:

Wife: "Brisco, a raccoon died in our camp. It was very sad. Is there any way you could possibly come up here and burry it?"
Me: "Are you kidding? That's a 50-mile drive!"
Wife: "Please! It's just lying here dead in front of us and it's so sad! I can't stand looking at it."
Me: "Just grab it by the tail and drag it into some nearby bushes."
Wife: "I can't do that! That's your job! Please!!!? I don't ask that much from you! It would really mean a lot to me--and my friends."
Me: "Okay (sigh). I'll be there in an hour. But I'm not burying it. I'm just going to put it in the bed of my truck and throw it out in the bushes a mile from camp."
Wife: "Well, I guess that will be okay. As long as it's gone. Thank you so much. It will mean so much to me and my friends. Thank you, Honey! You're the BEST!"
Me: "Yeah."