“Oh, darn it,” said my daughter. “I have my armadillo meeting tomorrow and I haven’t done my papers!”
“You … um …” I stuttered. “OK, what?”
“My armadillo meeting! With Grandma Evie!”
Jeez, dad!
Don’t you remember anything. You know, Grandma Evie? Your mom? The woman who has been calling here every day for the past week because she says there’s an armadillo in her yard. Digging holes. Eating all the worms. In downtown St. Augustine. Which is more improbable than, say, green alien squirrels mining gold in the Castillo.
But there it is. The agricultural extension lady came out, looked at at the holes and said that’s what it was. Or it’s where the alien squirrel mother ship landed.
Only at Gandma Evie’s house!
“So what’s this meeting you’re having?” I asked.
Another dumb question. Eight year olds are a tough crowd.
“Seriously?!?” she said. “I’m part of the armadillo staff. I have to do research. I have to look up what armadillos eat. I have to design traps. I have a meeting tomorrow with Grandma Evie. We need to look around the neighborhood. We have to measure the holes in the yard. We have to see if there’s an armadillo under the house. We have to build a trap. That’s a lot of pressure, you know.”
“Yes, yes it is,” I said. “Did you say ‘under the house?’ Your grandmother’s not going to make you crawl under there, is she?”
“Dad, you don’t honestly think SHE’S going to do it. She’s an old lady!”
“Hmmm,” I said. “I’m not so sure about this whole armadillo thing.”
“Dad! Grandma Evie has an armadillo in her yard. It’s digging holes. It’s eating all her worms. We can’t let it do whatever it pleases. This is St. Augustine. There are rules. We have to catch it.”
“But how exactly are you going to do that?”
“That’s why I have to research it. That’s why I need to get on the Internet. That’s why I have to draw up plans. We have to dig a hole deep enough that an armadillo will fall in. But not so deep that a cat can’t get out. Little Joe will probably fall in there.”
I would believe that. Little Joe is one of my mother’s cats. He’s not the brightest. The armadillo would be in the front yard eating worms and Little Joe would be sitting at the bottom of the trap waiting for dinner.
“Alright,” I said, reluctantly. “Just be careful and don’t touch anything.”
“Don’t worry, dad. Grandma Evie said she will grab him by the tail. She has it all figured out.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s what’s worrying me.”
Update: Armadillos – 0, Little Joes – 1