The influx of armadillos to the Deep South has affected our gardening, lawn care and our interpretation of the various footfalls in the deer woods. Hunters often hear these animals, which look like possums with flexible armor, shuffling along in the leaves, dragging their tails behind and leaving distinct trails as they root for insects and worms. They have not evolved to the point of having a successful plan for crossing busy highways so their remains are often there for all to see.

Armadillos have been exploited by man, at least in the case of engaging them in races for entertainment. Armadillo racing around certain Texas bars generated a small market for the pests. I once was moved by an advertisement in an Austin, Texas newspaper, seeking two armadillos, to undertake catching some. The ad offered $75 for a pair and I figured to pick up easy money by waiting in my yard south of Austin and grabbing a couple as they performed their daily task of digging up my lawn grass. 

It was while I stood motionless in mid-yard watching one of the unsuspecting mammals nudging along toward me that it occurred to me that I had no plan for what I was going to do with him if I successfully grabbed him. I suppose I figured to hold him firmly for a couple of kicks, pet him on the head, go to the garage for a box and drop him in. What actually took place bears no resemblance to that scenario.

True to my expectations, the armadillo’s poor eyesight caused him to finally wander near enough to my feet that I reached down and swiftly grabbed him, each hand cupped under his armored shell on either side of his body. That move was the last successful maneuver of my plan. From that split second on, the armadillo’s plan took charge.



Surprise! Surprise!



I instantly discovered the beast was bigger and heavier than I had thought and was harder to hold than a greased pig. That thing nearly beat me to death as his flouncing was slinging me around like a flag on a pole. If you took one of those paint bucket shakers at the paint store with a gallon of off-white going full speed and put it inside an accordion, that’s what I had hold of!

That armadillo’s tail resembled a water hose filled with lead and when he hit me across the mouth with it for the fifth time in two seconds I turned him loose and fled the scene, bruised, embarrassed and with a long list of easier ways to make $75.

Thereafter I harbored ill feelings toward the local armadillo population. But I suppressed my desire to slay the little beasts with my .22 rifle even though we lived in remote ranch country with no other homes within sight of ours. I would see one in the yard and wonder if it was the brute that roughed me up or perhaps a close relative. Revenge would seep into my heart. But the memory of my first encounter discouraged me from making a move, even with the .22. I supposed that if I only wounded one it might attack.

But one night I boiled over and initiated a second unfortunate encounter. A high fence around our garden kept out the deer, and a single electrified wire 10 inches off the ground kept out rabbits, possums and raccoons. But armadillos, through no ingenuity of their own, happen to have a voltage-proof shell that engulfs their body. When they crawled under my electric fence, the wire slid over their slick back and the dummies didn’t even know they had crossed my barrier.

A night visit to my garden revealed at the end of my flashlight beam a thoughtless armadillo busying himself pulling up and eating my radishes. I retreated to the house and secured my .22 pistol. My first shot, while holding the light with my left hand and discharging the pistol with my right, missed, the bullet hitting a nearby rock and ricocheting out across the mesquite and juniper covered prairie. (Here one must understand that in the Texas Hill country the ground is only one percent dirt — the remainder being rocks.)

The armadillo made a break and went under my electric fence and out into my vast back yard with me in hot pursuit, firing at the intruder as I ran along beside him. I could keep up probably because his furry little stomach was filled with several dozen of my fine radishes. But hitting him in the dark with both of us at full gallop was proving tedious.



Flying fragments



Every bullet that missed, which was all of them, hit a rock of course and no cowboy movie ever filmed could claim more ricochets. Bullet fragments and pieces of shattered rock fell like hail in my back yard.

The armadillo loped straight for my house where he went into a hole he had dug, without my knowing, right under the concrete slab beneath the bedroom. This infuriated me. Not only were the little pests eating my radishes and digging up my lawn, but I was providing rent-free housing for one of them! Right under my bed!

I peered into the hole and with the flashlight I could see the armadillo’s tail, well within reach. Ah Ha! “I’ll just pull you out of there where I can get a bead on you,” I said aloud. Gripping the thick tail with both hands I gave a strong yank. Do not laugh here unless you have your very own self yanked an imbedded armadillo’s tail in an attempt to dislodge him or her from a den.

That armadillo dug in all four of its clawed feet and yanked back! His yank almost jerked me into that hole. What saved me from being pulled underground was when my chin smashed into the brick siding of my house.

I had to let go in order to retrieve what was left of my chin from the brick and mortar. How could this be? Twice I had been beaten by a 12 pound armadillo. And in matches of physical strength yet! I went back inside and sulked while I watched the rest of Gunsmoke. Darn armadillos.