sleep deprivaion and raccoons

So having three dogs is at least one too many. Sid is old, Duffy diabetic and Mac -- not the sharpest dog in the drawer. Sid, at 15 and a half is still able to make it through the night without having to go out to pee. Duffy, being diabetic, is too thirsty, thus, has to pee frequently and a lot. Mac just likes to be involved in any outing, asleep or awake. He has the best ears, so knows of any movements outside our walls and wakes everyone else up in case they don't know... I haven't slept through the night since I got Mac. Or since entering menopause which has been artificially extended by the anti-estrogen cancer medication I am required to take that is better than being dead but that's about it. I still get hot flashes and can't sleep. I blame the dogs but it is easily half the medication that is at fault. So there I am, sleeping like a baby. Its three o'clock and Mac begins to whine, or Duffy gives his telltale bark, something he doesn't do unless he's serious. Like a robot, as Kurt describes me, I hop out of bed and wobble to the back door, tripping over dog toys and man-clothes on the way. Kurt takes off his clothes on the way to bed like a sex scene in a bad movie. Anyhow, I make it to the door in one piece. Now, I've been letting these dogs out at night without incident for years. This time is different. This time, Mac and Duffy run straight to the corner of the yard, barking as though in hot pursuit of something that needs to be killed. And they won't come back. They won't come back even when I say, "treats!" in the sweetest voice ever. I worry a little bit about my neighbor's sleep, but to tell the truth, not all that much. Dogs bark. Deal. But tonight they keep up the cacophony for long enough that even I am embarrassed. So, I slip on my outdoor clogs, the ones with the tiniest bit of dogshit embedded in the tread, and pick my way through the yard, in the dark, to grab them by the collar and drag them back in the house. As I make it to the far side of the yard where they are pitching such a fit, under the walnut tree, I happen to look up because they are. There, in the crotch of the tree, is an enormous raccoon. Fat and mean. Staring down at me. Never ever turn your back on a raccoon. I stepped backward, gingerly, reaching to grab Duffy by the collar. Mac had taken the hint and ran to the house. Duffy wasn't coming easily. He doesn't understand the danger he is in. He doesn't know that a raccoon will tear his nose off his face and let him bleed out. I know this. I tried to locate and grab my disobedient dog without breaking eye contact with the raccoon. My neighbors are nice people and I don't think they've heard language like that from me before. I finally got hold of Duffy and drug him inside, throwing him the last few feet through the door. Which was open. I'm not that mean. Two nights later, when I began to let the dogs out, four raccoons fled up the tree. Four. I decided to leash them and take them to the opposite side of the yard to pee. They weren't happy about this, but I'm sure you understand by now that their happiness is not my concern. My concern is sleep. I am trying to figure out what is bringing them into our yard. It is a mystery, one I am intent on solving.