As I finished up a long day of watering, the dog came running up the field road from the highway, tail held like a banner, joyfully carrying a prize. I caught a whiff of very dead armadillo. She set it down by a crape myrtle when she realized by the tone of my shouts that she was not carrying something acceptable. As she gave me a wide berth, I went for post hole digger and shovel, and newspapers.
About eight inches down out in the field, I realized that digging a hole in the heat covered with gnats was going to be a really unpleasant task. I dragged a hose over and filled the hole with water. As it soaked in I dug deeper until there was a hole roughly the shape of a map of Florida to accomodate an armadillo and his tail. The shell was flat. I am guessing that the critter was run over on the highway and buzzards picked the shell clean, leaving only the smell.
When the hole was finally better than two feet deep, I lifted the remains in the newspaper and tossed it into the grave. Not only did I refill the hole, I put on extra dirt. I dragged the little red wagon over and turned it upside down over the site. Anything to make it just a little harder for Buffy to dig up the armadillo as she did the last one that I didn't bury quite so deeply.
Armadillos are still digging everywhere I water. One down.
Why did the chicken cross the road? To show 'possoms and armadillos it could be done.
Late note: An armadillo was finally in the trap this morning. He has been dispatched. Enough of holes the size of a coffee mug and larger all over the garden.
See more critters HERE --First Friday Creature Feature.
Leaving you with something prettier than an armadillo:
Pictures and text are from the garden of Nell Jean blogged on Dotty Plants Journal in hot, humid Southwest Georgia.