THE NIGHT OF THE ARMADILLO

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Everyone has hidden talents. You just don’t expect to discover them at 10:00 at night in the grocery store parking lot.

But that’s just what happened the other night when I found out that I am not just Mike Gibbons, The Guy Who Looks Like The Guy From Sixteen Candles and Breakfast Club. That’s right. I am Mike Gibbons, Armadillo Wrangler.

It started innocently enough. Some friends were over at my house to grill out, as should be required by federal law during nice weather. (For the record, the federal law should state that everyone should grill out during nice weather, not necessarily over at my house. I don’t have the room.) Anyway, as we sat out on my back porch, we decided that an adult beverage would complement the evening nicely. Since it was Sunday, there were no adult beverages to be purchased. The ban on alcohol sales on Sunday often comes under a lot of criticism, mainly by me on Super Bowl Sunday, when I’ve realized I have forgotten to pick up a nice adult beverage to enjoy during the game.

Rather than get angry, though, I had an idea, an epiphany if you will. I remembered that, deep in the recesses of my cabinets was a bottle of everyone’s favorite headache tonic, tequila. All we needed now was some margarita mix and a mariachi band and we were good to go.

My friend and I headed up to the nearby grocer to pick up the necessities (ice, mix, sombreros). As we pulled into the parking lot, I remarked that there were a lot of people standing around in the parking lot pointing under cars. Naturally, I assumed someone was pinned under the wheels of one of the cars and, realizing there was nothing I could do to help, began to head for the inside. Then, I heard someone say, "There’s an armadillo in the parking lot!"

An armadillo!?!? I knew that I could not let this poor helpless, potentially leprosy-ridden animal get hurt. I had to spring into action. This armadillo needed me!

The armadillo needed me like Calista Flockhart needs a Weight Watchers meeting.

I joined several other people in the pursuit of the armadillo, who we’ll call Frank, because he just seemed like a Frank. Frank darted from car to car, just out of each of our reaches. A couple of us got a hand on the tail of Frank, but we quickly let go once Frank let out a very loud hiss that seemed to say, "Touch me again, and you’re a leper, pal."

Armadillos are suprisingly quick. Frank darted to and fro, and at one point even ran through my friend’s legs. It was very clear that my friend had no interest in catching Frank, as he merely looked down as if to say, "Hmm. An armadillo just ran through my legs."

Eventually, Frank grew tired. He crawled under a car and sat there, pondering his next move. With unparalleled grace, I eased up behind Frank. I grabbed his tail firmly and, despite his loud and rather rambunctious disagreement, I pulled him from under the car and held him for everyone to see.

A clerk from inside came out with a cardboard box to put him in. Lesson one in Armadillo Wrangling School: Using cardboard to hold an armadillo is about as effective as trying to knock Evander Holyfield out by slapping him. As I lowered Frank into the box, he shredded through the sides like they were made of tissue. I asked if anyone had a pillowcase, as I thought I could maybe put him in the sack until I found a suitable place to release him. Big shock, no one was driving to the grocery store with a bunch of expendable pillowcases.

One woman offered me a sweatshirt. I explained to her that, if she gave me the sweatshirt, chances are it wasn’t coming back, at least not in the original condition. The sweatshirt offer was quickly retracted.

Eventually, we decided that I would just hold Frank by the tail (as he writhed in protest), and my friend would drive us to some woods where we would release Frank, who would then head straight for a busy highway, as armadillos and possums are prone to do. Regardless, though, we would give him a little better shot than if he were still kicking around a parking lot.

As I walked to the car, a man came up to me and said, "Do you have experience handling one of those?" I looked down at Frank, and back at the man. "Uh, at least as much as anyone else here, I’m guessing." This seemed to placate the man, and he knew he could put his faith in me to get Frank to a safe locale.

When my friend pulled up to some woods, I got out of the car and set Frank on the ground. As he began to scurry into the darkness, just before he disappeared, Frank turned and looked at me. Our eyes met, if only for a moment, and I knew exactly what Frank was thinking: "I should have given him leprosy."