But it also introduced one of the more complicated parts of raising orphaned raccoons.
Pip couldn't be allowed to grow up thinking humans were his family.
The intensive care required during the neonatal stage creates unavoidable contact. Someone has to provide nutrition, monitor development, maintain his enclosure, and respond to medical concerns.
But that dependence is temporary.
Wild raccoons need an appropriate caution around humans.
An animal that becomes strongly habituated and actively approaches people can face serious problems after release.
So as Pip became physically capable of doing more for himself, we began doing less for him.
Direct interaction was limited to necessary care.
Feeding changed as his developmental stage advanced.
His environment became more important than the people maintaining it.
And whenever appropriate, social development with compatible raccoons of a similar age can become particularly valuable for orphaned youngsters.
A caregiver can provide nutrition.
A human cannot teach a raccoon how to be a raccoon nearly as well as other raccoons can.
Pip's nutritional transition also happened gradually.
Milk replacement had been essential while he was developmentally dependent on it, but it wasn't supposed to remain his entire world.
As he matured, age-appropriate solid foods became increasingly important.
At first, he mostly investigated them.
He touched them.
Smelled them.
Turned them between his paws.
Occasionally, he seemed to forget that they were food at all.
Then experimentation turned into eating.
That transition represented another small movement away from complete dependence.
Pip was starting to feed himself.
His physical appearance changed rapidly during this period.
The nearly naked belly filled in.
The thin strip of fur along his spine became part of a dense juvenile coat.
His ears looked larger and more defined.
The tail became unmistakably raccoon-like.
And the incomplete shadow around his eyes darkened into the familiar mask.
The transformation was remarkable when we placed photographs side by side.
The animal in the first image looked fragile enough that almost every aspect of his survival depended on someone else.
The animal in the later image looked increasingly capable of creating trouble.
We considered that an improvement.
Pip climbed his first low structure.
Then he climbed something higher.
Soon, whenever his enclosure was opened, he seemed to be in a location we hadn't expected.
His grip strengthened.
His balance improved.
He began exploring elevated spaces with increasing confidence.
He also started becoming much less cooperative about routine observations.
Instead of remaining exposed when a caregiver entered, Pip began moving toward cover.
The little orphan who once depended on human hands for nearly everything was beginning to choose distance from those same hands.
That may be one of the most important milestones of all.
At the time of this update, Pip still has considerable growing to do.
An orphaned raccoon isn't ready for release simply because he has fur, can eat solid food, and knows how to climb.
He must continue developing physically and behaviorally.
He needs strength and endurance.
He needs sophisticated climbing and foraging skills.
He needs to manipulate natural foods and solve problems.
He needs to respond appropriately to unfamiliar sights, sounds, and potential danger.
And he needs to remain wild enough that human beings aren't something he seeks out for food or reassurance.
That takes time.
His story is also a reminder that finding a baby raccoon alone doesn't automatically mean it should be picked up and raised.
Mother raccoons may be away temporarily, and in appropriate situations, healthy youngsters can sometimes have a chance to be reunited with their mother under professional guidance.
On the other hand, a baby that is cold, injured, visibly weak, in immediate danger, or confirmed to be orphaned requires a different response.
Because raccoons also present important zoonotic disease concerns and wildlife rehabilitation requirements vary by location, contacting an appropriate licensed rehabilitator or wildlife authority is safer than attempting prolonged care at home.
Pip needed specialized care because he had lost something no rehabilitation center can truly replace.
His mother would have provided far more than milk.
She would have provided warmth.
Protection.
Social development.
Movement through a natural environment.
And eventually, the countless lessons involved in surviving as a raccoon.
Our job isn't to pretend we can become that mother.
It's to bridge the gap she left behind without making Pip dependent on us instead.
For now, there is still a photograph from his earliest days that everyone remembers.
Pip is curled on fleece.
His belly is almost completely bare.
There is only a thin dusting of fur over his head and spine.
His tail looks nothing like the bushy ringed tail he will eventually carry.
And around his eyes, the famous raccoon mask is barely there.
He looks unfinished.
In a way, he is.
Every week adds something new.
More fur.
More weight.
Stronger legs.
Darker markings.
Better climbing.
Greater independence.
Less interest in us.
Someday, if everything goes as planned, Pip will have the thick gray coat, dark mask, ringed tail, strong paws, caution, and confidence of a young wild raccoon ready to leave rehabilitation.
By then, the tiny orphan who once needed help simply staying warm should be almost impossible to recognize.
And that is exactly the transformation we're hoping for.