Dear Otus,
I was driving to work last week and listening to KARN and Kevin Miller, their morning guy, made a big deal out of seeing a live armadillo by the road. He said it was like spotting a unicorn. Are there those who actually doubt the critters are out there?
-- Ryan Hatch,
Diaz
Dear Ryan,
It was wholly a pleasure to hear from you and to thank you for the opportunity to address this issue, which is still the source of contentious, divisive debate across the state.
First of all, it's not surprising that Miller has never seen a live armadillo. He lives in North Little Rock, where armadillos have been banned by city ordinance since 1989, when one frightened then-Mayor Pat Hays' 14-year-old daughter Josie.
But the debate over armadillos in Arkansas had been going on for decades before that.
Certain college-educated, degree-hampered state "experts," such as Arkansas Game and Fish Wildlife Verification Director Joshua Minton, have opined that the Great Flood of '27 virtually wiped out the state's armadillo population.
Minton insists that all the dead armadillos on the state's highways are roadkill jokingly transported up from Texas by hooligans and high-spirited youth.
Game and Fish even set up a website last year so citizens could report "alleged" sightings of live armadillos. Responses crashed the site. Before it ended, the armadillo link had received 11,241 hits with citizens reporting sightings.
Most were incredulous that anyone who has spent any time in Arkansas -- at least outside the confines of the capital city area -- would doubt the existence of live armadillos in our state. Here are just three examples:
Billy Riley: "I'm right now looking at two of them rooting up my backyard in Prairie Grove."
Oleta and Paul Noesser of Blevins: "If Minton doesn't believe there are armadillos in Arkansas, I wish he would bring his .22 over to my house and stand guard over my yard every night."
Gert Millevoy: "Yes, there are many armadillos in the Natural State. Living in Hot Springs Village, I've often seen them as roadkill, but it's not dead 'dillos tearing up our lawns and golf courses!"
Ryan, you weren't the only one to hear Miller's incredulity on the radio. The rabble were sufficiently roused that many (well, his usual half dozen callers) wanted to share wacky armadillo tales with KARN's Doc Washburn. He filled three hours of his daily afternoon sardonic philippic with them.
The other hour Martin milked by lambasting a long list of elected and appointed officials (other than Lt. Gov. Tim Griffin) for "not doing me the courtesy, brother" of responding to his emails about their armadillo experiences.
Of course, the outfit that got the best chuckle out of the "armadillo dearth" is the Farmers and Businessmen Club of Gillett. The Arkansas County organization has been holding its Gillett 'Dillo Supper since 1943.
The event each January attracts about 1,100 hungry diners and politicians to the town of 883 and formerly benefited the high school football team until the school district merged with DeWitt in 2004. It now funds college scholarships for area students.
Armadillo, according to Gillett old-timers, is the real other white meat. It tastes like pork without the chicharrones. Locals warn curious consumers not be influenced by Spamadillo, the inferior commercial product manufactured by the Hormel Meat Co. and available at Whole Foods.
Joe Hackley, this year's 'Dillo Supper chairman, says Spamadillo has given the real thing a bad name. "They make that swill out of armadillo byproducts," he said. "Tails and toenails. I wouldn't feed it to my dogs. And they're ugly dogs."
Hackley says about 2,000 pounds of free-range armadillo (Dasypus novemcinctus) are smoked for about 10 hours with gobbler sawtooth oak and water tupelo wood, to give it a juicy, barbecued taste. He also says they have Tofudillo for the vegans, but you have to pre-order a month before the dinner.
The stars of the Gillett suppers since 1997 have been the club's two mascots, Amos and Andie Armadillo. The latest incarnations (Amos IV, Andie V) were captured as pups along the Little La Grue Bayou east of Deluce and raised by circuit clerk Tommi Sue Heffer.
Until next time, Kalaka reminds you armadillos are real, but fairly harmless. But be on the lookout for their nasty cousins with the razor-sharp antlers -- the armadillalopes.
Disclaimer: Fayetteville-born Otus the Head Cat's award-winning column of humorous fabrication appears every Saturday. E-mail:
HomeStyle on 05/30/2015