I don't know 'dillos so well, but they look like 'armored opossums' to me ;).
And because I'm somewhat of a narcissist, here's my story about vermin (a racoon):
The Clem Sparks Chronicles By Clem Sparks, Grease Monkey Extraordinaire
3/15/06
Clem and the Demented Raccoon
Sometimes you have an experience that changes the way you think about things. Recently, I had such an experience. It made me realize that raccoons are not always to be regarded as cute, yet mischievous varmints.
It was about 7:00 in the evening and I was in the country working on the Toyota cab and chassis truck (From Milwaukee) trying to remove the valuable parts which the truck was purchased for. I was working at my friend’s shop that conveniently had a lift and air tools. While removing studs from the hub flange, I noticed from the corner of my eye, a small animal. I quickly looked over, expecting to see a cat. I was only mildly surprised to find a raccoon looking in at me from the darkness outside. I did my usual, “Hey there little raccoon!” response and expected it to swiftly scamper off to another of its scavenging spots.
I’ve run across raccoons before, and this is their typical response. They typically freeze, stare at you for a minute or two, and then reluctantly scamper off.
To my surprise, it paused, scratched its belly with a hind leg, and proceeded toward me. At this point, I hollered at the raccoon. He stopped for a moment, acting annoyed at my audacity. I could just hear him thinking, “Dude, why are you still here…what are you? Some kinda tough guy?”
I could see that this wasn’t going well, so I decided to scare him off for good. I picked up the air chisel that was within reach and pulled the trigger, making a racket that would likely make a grizzly head for the back 40. I thought I had been successful when the raccoon meandered off. However, he only moved back about 3 feet. I threw an old radiator hose his way and he bit at it and then seemed uninterested when he realized it was neither food nor predator.
At this point it was obvious to me that this raccoon had established a territory in the shop and I was not going to stop him from coming in for a look see.
He came back to his previous spot and looked at me. It was then that he began some sort of strange posturing exercise that I have ultimately diagnosed as a seizure of some sort. He sat up on his hind legs while showing his teeth, started convulsing and then fell over onto his side. Then he got back up on all fours and came toward me.
I’m not ashamed to tell you, at this point I was scared! I deduced that the animal was diseased, demented, and didn’t want me around. I light-footedly traipsed around the truck and out of the shop. The raccoon, of course, followed me. The safest place I could imagine at this time was my car. So I quickly walked to it, ever mindful of the assailant on my tail, and hopped in. The raccoon kept coming. I fished through my pockets and found my keys. I started the car and turned on the headlights. The raccoon kept coming!
As he approached my car, I thought, “That’s it, time to put this thing out of its misery.” I put the car in gear and drove over the top of the raccoon. As I expected, I was not successful at mashing the animal. Turning around to see where he was I realized that he was again pursuing my car. So I put it in reverse and went over him again. One more time in forward gear and he’d had enough and decided to return to his interests in the shop itself. I watched him wander around aimlessly in the shop for several minutes from the safety of my car. Eventually, he went outside and around the corner to enter another part of the shop.
The funny part of this story is that I had a gun, a .22 rifle, in the cab of the truck in the shop. I’m not a hunter and the only reason I own the gun is because, much like cars, I see the gun as an artfully crafted machine. I have owned this rifle for over 10 years, and it has been used twice, for target practice. Tonight, I was going to make it three times. I made the decision to enter the shop and load the gun. This felt to me like a scene from an action movie. I couldn’t move fast enough! I loaded the gun and went out of the shop and scoped out the situation.
I was sure the critter would be back…it was just a matter of time. I knew that when the time came I would have to shoot away from the shop (filled with cars, tractor, motorcycle, explosive fluids and cylinders, etc), my car, the house, and any other valuable thing or being. I formulated somewhat of a plan, and went back into the shop.
Nervously, I began half-heartedly working on the truck again. Working with my hands, but staring out the open door to the shop in anticipation. Then, sure enough, the raccoon came around the corner and looked at me. I sprung to my feet and grabbed my gun. The raccoon pursued me as I ran around the truck and out of the shop. At that point he seemed to be happy to have me gone and wandered around the shop, scuffled with the cat, and apparently had another one of those fits I described earlier.
It was time, I decided, to write the final chapter of this little episode. I was confident that if I drew attention to myself, the ‘coon would be annoyed at me again and come after me in his typical threatening fashion. So I shuffled my feet in the gravel. Sure enough, I got his attention and he came my way. I tiptoed my way across my pre-planned route to lure him away from the shop and into the line of fire.
I raised my rifle and spotted the critter in the scope. I didn’t have a clean shot, though. There were gasoline containers behind him and a garden tiller between him and I. A little too high and I could start a fire. A little to the left and I could kill a valuable piece of machinery.
With rifle still at the ready, and the varmint in the crosshairs, I made a few steps back and the raccoon obliged by coming around the tiller and into a clear spot. The adrenaline flowed and things were moving fast. Is this a safe shot? If I miss him, will he be able to bite me before I can get another shot?
I squeezed the trigger, and it was over. I like to think that I put that raccoon out of his misery that night. It was apparent to me that he was out of sorts and possibly carrying a disease. I returned to working on the truck, but I frequently checked to see that that raccoon was still lying in the same place, and had not come back to life to chase me around some more.
I now realize that though I love animals and have a special connection with them; it sure is nice to have a loaded gun when a demented raccoon shows up at your door.
