Trailblazing Armadillos
Armadillos don’t even look natural. These prehistoric-looking beasts are right nasty up close. Credit: www.birdphotos.com
Armadillos are God’s bad joke. If you’ve ever seen one up close, those things are uglier than I am first thing in the morning after a long all-nighter beating back Guncrank deadlines. I have, in fact, had a few up close and personal experiences with these odd little pocket dinosaurs. They are positively ghastly creatures.
When I was a kid, I understandably assumed armadillos were just born dead on the side of the road. That was the only place I ever saw them. However, I eventually encountered a few live ones in the wild.
Clothes First, Then Bat …
One of the warrant officers I flew with back when I was an Army pilot was an enormous African American gentleman named Al. Big, boisterous, capable and cool, Al took his yard maintenance very seriously. He and his family lived down the street from us in post housing.
One evening, my wife was washing dishes and asked me to come look at something. Her query was simply, “Isn’t that Al?”
And indeed, there he was. Now understand, Al was a big, impressive guy. He was out in his front yard at maybe 5 o’clock in the afternoon in broad daylight, wearing nothing but a pair of red satin boxer shorts, screaming maniacally as he chased an armadillo around with a baseball bat. He honestly looked like a half-naked Nubian crazy person. The following day, I asked him about the episode, and he just mumbled something about really hating what armadillos did to his flower beds.
This example looks like he really does have leprosy.
The Joys of Wilderness Living
Then, there was the time when one of my kids and I were walking up the hill to check the mail and stumbled across a baby armadillo foraging in the grass. He looked like some hairy mechanized grapefruit. Most any baby anything is fairly cute, but armadillos are only just barely. This one still had enormous claws, stringy homeless person hair, and scaly skin that looked like something from a commercial for some revolutionary new psoriasis medication.
My child was giddy at the prospect. “Can we keep him, Daddy?” was really all I remember from the exchange. Clearly, without thinking, I suggested he keep an eye on the little beast while I went back to fetch the dip net. Before I could intervene, I just saw the soles of a pair of tiny Keds sneakers as my spawn dove into the grass after the horrible thing. Dirt, grass and sundry detritus flew about with great vigor before my child emerged holding this squirmy miniature monster. I found myself unable to say no.
My wife, however, was not so emotionally encumbered. She rightfully announced that armadillos carried leprosy and sensibly demanded the beast be released forthwith. It was an emotional event for all involved, but he had been a member of the family long enough to earn a name. Armand, if you’re curious.
Westward Ho…
Wikipedia claims that armadillos first migrated up from Central America across the Rio Grande about a zillion years ago. They were first identified in South Texas in 1854. There are lots of different kinds, but the nine-banded sort is the only species endemic to North America today. The Mississippi River physically stopped their relentless march east. And there things would have remained ad infinitem had it not been for a handful of strategic bridges.
The first bridge across the Mississippi River was erected in 1856 and connected Rock Island, Illinois, and Davenport, Iowa. Nowadays, there are around 120 bridges spanning the mighty Mississippi. At some point, some pioneering armadillo must have taken the leap.
I can visualize the scene. The youngest, strongest, most adventurous of the lot loiters around the western bridge abutment screwing up his courage. The lady armadillos are shamelessly fawning over him, admiring his pioneering spirit, fearless attitude, massive claws and stringy homeless person hair. When the time is right, he takes off down the elevated roadway, scampering for dear life.
About a third of the way across, he runs afoul of a station wagon driven by an accountant from Atlanta heading west to meet his in-laws for vacation in Hot Springs, Arkansas. The car bounces slightly, and the 6-year-old daughter squeals in disgust. Her 10-year-old brother secretly hopes some of the pureed beast splashed up onto the fenders so he could enjoy it later. Throughout it all, Dad just counts the minutes until they get there. Meanwhile, back at the abutment, the armadillo clan draws straws to see who goes next.
Eventually, somebody clearly made it across with his testicles intact. As a result, today, we now enjoy genetic homogeneity among armadillo clans across our mighty republic. And to think it all stemmed from those first few fearless pioneers.
