April 20, 2010

Come Listen To My Story . . .

How I found myself sitting in my driveway at 1:00 in the morning with a loaded rifle across my lap is a short story that can be summed up in one word.
Armadillo. Or more specifically the nine-banded armadillo (Dasypus novemcinctus).
He drew first blood.
I’m sitting here in my small town Georgia bliss minding my own business when out of nowhere, divots. All over my pristine, immaculate lawn  divots the circumference of a saucer. The sod torn up leaving a hole just big enough to be very, very annoying.
I tried mediation. I sealed up every spot under my fence through which he could launch his nightly raids. He only redoubled his assault mocking me with his ability to appear out of the ether to continue his nefarious nocturnal munching before vanishing back to whatever hole he called home.
            I considered using a trap but scuttled that plan when I realized I didn’t have one. There was only one option left. I would have to launch a projectile at more than twice the speed of sound into his abdomen with extreme prejudice. A bushwhacking was in order.
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. . . Oops, sorry, flashback.
It took about two weeks of nocturnal missions until last night I finally had him in my crosshairs. He crossed my perimeter not realizing his nights of digging divots were about to cease.  But he didn’t come alone. Another armadillo from his squad came with him. There was no safety in numbers.
In the end it was not really a fair fight. My ruthless cunning, my well-honed killer instincts, my bigger brain sealed their fate. They are now a part of the circle of life taking a dirt nap in the empty field next door. I love the smell of de-lifed armadillo in the morning.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hoo-rah

s-p said...

You could have mailed me the carcasses and I could put them on my mantle with the other armadillo I have. I envy that you live in a place you can discharge a firearm in the middle of the night without bringing a SWAT team to your driveway.

November In My Soul said...

Steve,

Actually I was going to mention that. I fired two rounds from my 30-30 Remington in the space of about 90 seconds. And I literally live in the middle of town and two blocks away from the Sheriff's Office.

This is after all the deep South where individual and States' rights are more than empty rhetoric. The occasional sound of gunfire is not that uncommon. The difference is that only rarely is someone shooting at someone else. I suspect that in most households having a firearm of some sort is more the rule than the exception.

And to set the record straight my lawn is neither pristine or immaculate. It is essentially a weed garden but man has to do what a man has to do.

isabella said...

that is the funniest thing I have read in a long time...and as far as living in the deep south...I recall a movie quote from a few years back..."they should require passports to visit down here"

s-p said...

Yep. I remember when I was a kid my grandfather sat me in a chair with a .22 with snakeshot and let me shoot blackbirds out of his plum trees in the middle of town in Arkansas. He chased one across the street to the grocery store and stood in the parking lot and shot at it on the light pole once. Arizona has moved up a notch, we just passed a no permit required concealed carry law. Yay! I'm legal now. :)

Athanasia said...

Hoo-rah indeed. I wish I could have been on that nightly mission...weed garden or not.

elizabeth said...

Late in the game... well I grew up in MI and had hunters safety for part of gym class... :)

Canada (where I am not) is more pacifist unless you are in parts of the Praries, from what I understand...