Garden Capers

The Damn 'Dillo

The armadillo is back. He’s been tearing up the garden and uprooting plants for three weeks in his quest for food. I’m convinced the nearly blind, armor-coated mammal is responsible for the large hole under the deck. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been hibernating thirty yards from my bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a she and has been producing four genetically identical offspring each year; offspring advised to stay at the Jacobs as it’s chemical/canine/shotgun free, one stop, worm and grub shop environment.

     I didn’t mention the armadillo’s return to my husband, RJ, because of the “accidental armadillo killing.” RJ insists he killed the pest that nearly destroyed our garden in 2011. I was watching Sons of Anarchy at the time, which made it difficult to hear anything happening outside, including the outdoor faucet being turned on for the supposed cleanup. I didn’t view the dead ‘dillo—RJ said I wouldn’t want to. I found that a bit suspicious as I’m the stomach-of-steel, scientific one who’s viewed a human autopsy.

     My strategy for dealing with the armadillo damage the last three weeks was to remove my contacts when I went outside. It worked until I tripped over the Big Wheel and landed on the stonewall fifteen feet from two deer munching on my ‘Autumn Joy’ sedum. I put my contacts back in after my eyes recovered from two days of non-stop crying.

     My garden foes are multiplying. I’m seething on the inside while re-filling the armadillo’s holes with soil and mulch. When our Siamese cats, Juju and Thai, run back and forth from window to window at night, talking in their chirpy, weird, me-yowling way, I pay attention. They’re alerting me to critters in the garden. Not only will I wear my contacts when I’m outside, I’m going to buy night vision goggles so I can safely chase deer and armadillos in the dark. When I’m not doing penance for ignoring garden chores, I fantasize about being a sharp shooter. 

Photo: Nine-banded Armadillo