Adventures in Armadillodom

The breakfast table had grown quiet, attention being focused on the reading of a chapter from the Proverbs. Various ones unhurriedly poured themselves half glasses of orange juice or half mugs of coffee. Slowly at first, a stir developed around the east end of the table - whispering, peering through the blind slats. The reading paused, and Roger removed his glasses. “What is it?” "In the backyard. It’s an armadillo.” “Yes, look!” Someone dissented, “No, it’s not. Just a rabbit.”

Everyone looked closer, and those who could not see from where they were left their places at the table and moved to the window. The consensus confirmed the identification: a genuine 9-banded armadillo. (The 9-banded is the most widespread member of the species, and is the only one found in North America.)

Often referred to as “the Texas speed bump,” the animal unfortunately does not possess a very fast reaction time and is often seen flattened on the roadside. Its tendency to jump straight up in the air when surprised further exposes the the animal to harm when you split the tires. Texans have made it their state small mammal as a penance.

Our little armored friend seemed to be minding his own business, just armadilloing about and looking for bugs. What becomes problematic for farmers is their highly developed digging skill. Anyone who has studied or kept cattle or other livestock will readily recognize that an abrupt twelve inch hole in the middle of the pasture cannot be a good thing.

Roger, like an emperor disturbed by a pesky invasion, went off to retrieve a shotgun. Some of the boys pulled on shoes or boots to join in the fray. The armadillo remained, for the time being, oblivious. Good bugs.

Shotgun in hand, Roger descended the side porch steps. The invader was inside the fence, about fifty feet away. Landon returned from the barn with a pitchfork, and the contest began.

Though not entirely blind, the species’ eyesight is less than brilliant. Dimly sensing that something was amiss, the armadillo retreated downhill into taller grass, out of the open. Bryson provided updates on his location and called out instructions. Stealthily, Landon cut around below him to cut off the escape. There he goes – the strings reached a crescendo – the pitchfork came down – the cymbals crashed!

The armadillo dashed toward the fence. The shotgun cracked. Blue smoke. Quiet. Roger peered into the grass. It was a small one, probably rather young. He picked it up by the tail and brought it over to the porch steps. It is no testimony to the sanity of Texans that they host beauty contests for these creatures. They are reported to be difficult to domesticate, (the armadillos, not the Texans,) which implies that some poor soul has tried to do so. By contrast, in Maine, where the brisk Atlantic air clears the mind regularly, it’s illegal to own one.