Armadillo Disinvite
I have an armadillo, or rather, he has me. He has my attention. I'm not sure I have his. I'm assuming I'm dealing with an
armadillo. I don't have a smoking armadillo gun. All I have is a couple holes in the yard and the assessment of the guy at Home Depot who stands in the moth ball section. His assessment, "Yep, that's an armadillo." Who am I to question that? Answer = No one.
Frankly, I'm happy to be dealing with an essentially passive creature noted for its unusual appearance and defense mechanism rather than something that could, in fact, kill you. I had have to be pretty unlucky and manage this pretty badly for the armadillo to kill me. The wife, of course, is disappointed that death (mine, not the armadillo) is an unlikely outcome. Her initial plan called for me to stick my whole head or failing that, my whole arm into the hole to determine what made the hole, and potentially what was in it. Basically, I would be the only participant in the wife designed party game, "Bobbing for Wild Critters". I have enough good sense not stick my face in uncharted holes or do anything the wife suggests that involves peril. I, however, do not have enough good sense to leave a woman who is continually trying to kill me.
Plan A in the
armadillo eradication plan was to simply refill the holes he dug. "Hey, hey armadillo. Let's have none of that. I'll correct your transgression this one time as a gesture of my neighborliness. But no more." That was my classic personification misjudgement of the animal. If someone covers my hole repeatedly, I'm going to stop digging. Animals, though, are too resilient in the face of adversity. I hate that about them.
At this point it became time to contemplate the framework of Plan B. The obvious choice here was eviction. The armadillo had the advantage here in that it has the perfect characteristic to thwart its removal. The armadillo is nocturnal. In 2007, I am not. Even when I was nocturnal I don't think I had enough discipline to catch an armadillo. As an armadillo has little romantic possibilities, it's hard to imagine that I would have dedicated much
noc of my
turnal to catching him.
No, Plan B would involve deterrent.
Wife, "Where are you going?"
Me, "To Home Depot to pick up moth balls the universal deterrent."
Wife's witty retort, "A moth didn't make those holes."
B actually became a multi part project. Step 1 was tossing all the backyard dog turds down the hole mostly because it was a good oppurtunity to multi-task. I need to de-turd-mine the back yard, and I need something smelly for the armadillo. Voila. Step 2 was jamming a hose and gallons of water down the armadillo hole. The goal here was twofold. One was to get the armadillo out of the hole. If he had come out, there was no concrete plan to deal with him other than a shovel and my own resolve to persuade him to go.
My neighbor (potentially), "The neighbor just herded an angry wet armadillo into our yard."
My response, "So?".
My solution to neighborhood problems is to make them "not currently my problem". What can I say I'm American. Goal 2 of step 2, turn basement of armadillo hole into a dog poop stew, was just another personification on my part. Me? I would be fairly annoyed by wet dog crap covered sleeping quarters. So far B is working, but that doesn't mean that I'm not working on C.
Plan C begins with the question, Why does an armadillo find my yard attractive? My point is if he wants to live here, a hole in the yard is not enough. Let's bring him in the house, and really make him live the life. My life. We'll begin with, Take an Armadillo to Work Day.
An associate, "You're armadillo stinks of dog poop and moth balls."
Me, "Whose doesn't?"
Then we'll take him back to the house. We'll let him deal with some real issues, not the kind you can dust with moth balls and hope they go away.
I think he stays gone this time. I think he senses my resolve.
