The Drowning Armadillo
The Drowning Armadillo
A STORY OF RESILIENCE
January 5, 2021
It happened just after five o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon in the middle of August. It was the hottest time of day in the hottest month of the year in Florida, especially when your backyard faced west. I knew this because every day at five o’clock I fed my two big Labradors—Bear and Skye—their dinner then took them out back to do their business. And I sweated profusely in the thick heat. But I couldn’t trust them out there unaccompanied as Skye had developed a bad habit of eating her poop if I didn’t immediately scoop it up.
I was wearing a sleeveless linen dress that day, one with side pockets that made me look hippy. My hair was up in a ponytail as usual and I was trying hard not to sweat. I’d be meeting my son, Wilson, for dinner and didn’t want to go to the trouble of changing my outfit. This is how I remember it was a Wednesday, because Wilson and I went to Bonefish Grill every Wednesday evening, ever since January sixth, the Day of Epiphany. (In the Christian tradition, this is the day that marks the revelation of Jesus to the Magi who had followed a star to find him.) That particular year, January sixth was also the day my husband had announced he wanted a divorce.
How ironic, I had thought to myself at the time, that this day will forever mark the revelation that he no longer wants to be tethered to me. It was my very own day of epiphany.
By the time August had rolled around, I was knee deep in the muck and muddle of everything that was entailed in dissolving a thirty-three-year marital union, including the selling and packing up of the family home. I had thought about keeping it, but it was too big for me to rattle around in alone—like I had done the last seven months. I had never lived alone before, and I didn’t need a big old house to remind me of that.
On that steamy August day, following the dogs out into the backyard, I walked over to the sparse shade of the pool umbrella while keeping my eye on Skye. Bear trotted over to the bushes by the back fence, his nose in the air. He started pawing at something; it was an armadillo, I discovered, as it tore from its hiding place and dashed across the lawn with Bear in pursuit. Skye soon joined in, and together they chased the armadillo, who was barely holding on to a breath of a lead, around the yard.
I stood in my piece of shade and idly watched them, not the least bit concerned for the armadillo. I’d seen them in the yard before, and they usually scurried away into narrow spaces too small for Labradors. And I wasn’t going to let myself sweat. I pulled my phone out of my dress pocket to check for messages, confident the armadillo would find his safe place soon, the dogs could give up the chase and take care of their business, and we could all go inside and cool off.
When I looked up, I was startled to see the armadillo heading straight for the pool. Surely, he’d veer in another direction. But to my alarm, he leapt right in and started swimming around the perimeter of the pool, frantically looking for a way out. For some reason, the dogs didn’t jump in after him, but chose instead to stir themselves into a frenzy on the pool deck, yapping and nipping at the armadillo as he valiantly tried to keep himself from drowning while not getting devoured.
I let out a sigh and put my phone back in my pocket. I was going to have to do something about the ruckus. And I was going to have to sweat to do it.
I needed to get the dogs away from that armadillo before they jumped in the pool after him. But with no one there to help me, I couldn’t just pull them away. They were too strong and crazy wound up. An idea came to me. I ran inside and snatched the box of Milk-Bone dog biscuits, ran back out, and started shaking the box, shouting above the melee, “Bone! Bone! Who wants a bone?!”
That grabbed their attention, but I could tell they were debating whether getting a bone was worth giving up an armadillo. They looked at me with cocked heads and spry ears then looked back at the pool. Bone or armadillo? I shook the box more vigorously, jumping up and down, sweat dribbling down the sides of my face, and yelled again, “Let’s get a bone!”
The temptation for a sure thing was too much and they ran over to me, scampering up the back porch steps as I led them inside to their crates, leaned down and locked them in, and gave them each a bone. Standing back up, I took my glasses off, swiped the sweat from my face with my free hand, and replaced my glasses.
I re-did my ponytail as I walked back outside. Perhaps the armadillo had figured out a way to climb out now that the threat was gone. Perhaps he had already traveled back to wherever he had come from, safe and sound. But I soon saw that he was still there, swimming his laps around the pool perimeter, periodically trying to claw his way out. His stumpy legs just couldn’t get him up over the ledge. I wondered how many laps he could do before he drowned of exhaustion.
I need to help him.
I need someone to help me.
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I called Wilson, who lived a few short blocks away. But he said he was still at work and suggested I call Meredith, my daughter who lived about a mile away. When I did, she said Anthony, her husband, would be home any minute, and they’d head over together to see what they could do.
I put my phone back in my pocket and stood there waiting on the scorched concrete pool deck, warily watching the armadillo go round and round the pool, paddling and scrabbling and struggling to stay afloat. As I blinked the sweat from my eyes, it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to be able to wait for help to arrive. If that poor creature had any chance of surviving this, I was going to have to save him myself.
Looking around and spotting the recycling bin up on the porch, I ran up the steps and dumped out the bottles and cans, ran back with it and hovered over the side of the pool, dangling the bin in the armadillo’s path just under the water. As he approached, I lowered it more, and he swam right in. But when I tried to scoop the bin from the pool, it was too heavy for me. It had taken on too much water. I tipped it to let some of the water out, and the armadillo swam out too.
Dropping the bin on the pool deck with a grunt, I pushed my glasses back up my nose and looked around again. Our detached garage was behind the pool; maybe something in there would work. I opened the rusty side door and stared into the musty space, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. I peered around at all the junk that had accumulated over the years in there. Nothing seemed suitable for saving a drowning armadillo. Then my eyes landed on a discarded sign, and I considered it. It had skinny metal legs coming out the bottom of the signage, which advertised a fish fry at the local Catholic church from some years back. I picked it up, thinking I might could use it as a sort of ramp, and hurried back to the pool.
Holding the metal legs, I bent down and levered the sign portion into the water in front of the armadillo. Lo and behold, he swam right onto it. My hope expanded. But the surface proved too slick for his feet to get any traction and he slipped off.
I sat back on my haunches, defeated, my heart thumping hard against my chest, sweat drooling down my spine. The beleaguered armadillo carried on with his vigil of swimming.
Gathering my reserves, I surveyed the yard again and noticed a couple of bricks laying by the patio, over by the chiminea. I wondered if I put a brick on the top pool step, then steered the armadillo to step on the brick, could he then climb out? I ran over and picked up the brick, raced back and placed it on the pool step, then went hunting for something to use to steer him.
Resting against the side of the house was a three-foot long steel stick that was occasionally used to shut the main water valve off down by the road. It had been left out there forever because it seemed like a convenient place to be when needed. I snatched it and hurried back to the pool before the armadillo could complete another lap. As he swam toward me, I stuck my stick in the water and prodded him toward the step. But once he got near upon it, I realized the distance was still too high for him to hoist himself over the ledge.
I’d need another brick.
I pulled my guide stick out of the water, the armadillo continued swimming, and I sprinted back to the chiminea and grabbed the other brick. Coming back to the pool, I placed it on top of the first brick and waited for the armadillo to come around again. When he did, I nudged him toward the bricks with my stick. As soon as his feet hit the top brick, he stepped across it and, just like that, he was out of the pool.
He stood there at the pool’s edge, completely still save the breath heaving in and out of his wet and weary little body. I slowly leaned over with my hands on my knees, and eyed him, my glasses sliding down my nose. He eyed me back, then turned and toddled away into the bushes.
I had done it. I had saved the drowning armadillo.
Just then, my daughter and her husband rushed through the back gate. I had forgotten all about calling them. Anthony, looking around, inquired, “Where’s the armadillo?”
Before I could respond, Meredith said, “Mother, you’re looking a little disheveled.”
I adjusted my glasses and took stock of myself. She was right. My hair was in disarray, having all but abandoned my ponytail, my face felt flushed, and sweat was emanating from every pore of my body. I’d have to do more than change my outfit before dinner; I’d have to get a shower and wash my hair too.
Somehow that was okay with me. It no longer seemed to be so much of a bother. And it was then I realized that the person who had called my son, then called my daughter to come help was not the same person who had just saved an armadillo from drowning. In a span of barely ten minutes, I had become someone who was resourceful, resilient even. I had forgotten that about myself in the past seven months.
Maybe I hadn’t wanted to remember it. Maybe I had wanted to be rescued, was waiting to be rescued from the overwhelming unforeseen circumstances that were threatening to drown me.
The day I saved the armadillo was the day I remembered I could tackle hard things and survive, and maybe even somehow bring some good from it. There would still be too many rough days ahead, incredibly difficult days, but I would carry this truth with me. It was a day of revelation for me. My new day of epiphany.
The armadillo and I, we helped save each other that day.
*This essay originally appeared in the January 2021 newsletter of Cascade Ministries (cascadeministries.org).