According to humorist Will Rogers, good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment. Combining this truth with the common sense admonishment that folks ought not mess with creatures that aren’t messing with them explains why, from what happened on the way to church one day, I will always avoid angering armadillos.
Fossil finds indicate that Mother Nature tinkered with countless hard-shelled animals, from one-celled organisms to Brontosauruses. Apparently, she favored smaller creatures like Homo sapiens and relegated most armor-laden animals to the good-idea-at-the-time evolutionary junk pile — but not armadillos, which have few natural enemies. During The Great Depression, when the political promise of “a chicken in every pot” proved to be what all political promises are — lies, armadillos were called “Hoover hogs” by impoverished Americans who sometimes resorted to eating them in order to survive.
I spotted an armadillo, minding his own business. Exercising zero good judgment, I stepped on his tail
However, while Homo sapiens no longer prey upon these creatures, if angered, armadillos will prey upon not-so-sapient Homo sapiens, as I learned after purchasing a pair of cowboy boots, western-style khakis, a shirt with snap buttons, a big belt buckle, and a ten-gallon hat.
To help break in the boots, I planned to walk with my lifelong best friend and mentor Jaybird to church one Sunday morning. On the way to his home, I spotted an armadillo, minding his own business. Exercising zero good judgment, I stepped on his tail, expecting him to scurry away in fright. Indeed he scurried — straight toward me!
Remembering that armadillos can carry leprosy, I put one un-broken-in boot in front of the other, with the mini-Megalosaurus hissing in hot pursuit. I heard its disease-bearing claws clack-clack-clacking inches behind me and was terrified they would soon rake my retreating rear end. Just when I thought my blistered feet could stand no more, I saw a garbage dumpster. Leaping with all my might, my buckle clanged against the big box’s rim, my boots banged its side, and the cowboy hat fell amongst festering garbage.
Gasping for breath, I glanced down and saw my armored adversary hissing, salivating, baring needle-sharp fangs, and clawing the box as he inched upward toward flesh to which he would impart leprosy. Then I heard a familiar voice: “Boy, what the heck are you doing?” Looking around, I saw Jaybird staring in disbelief at a beady-eyed beast treeing a cringing cowboy. Finally, the armadillo clack-clacked off, exulting in victory. As I slid down, the old black man asked if I was all right. Lying, I claimed that I was minding my own business when that varmint attacked.
My buckle was scratched, the boots were scuffed, garbage goo stained my khakis and shirt, and the ten-gallon hat was a foot deep in garbage. Jaybird looked me over and said, “Maybe we ought to fish instead of worship today.” I agreed. A bad experience followed bad judgment, which I exercised by messing with a creature that wasn’t messing with me. That day I learned a lesson the hard way: Always avoid angering armadillos.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s upcoming book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
The book will be available before the holiday season. Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (jimmycecilreedjr@gmail.com).
Jimmy Reed——
Bio and Archives
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
Other books by Jimmy Reed include The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
