We all make our choices, many of them a day sometimes. Some better than others.
Take the Texan who saw an armadillo on a road Thursday. Immediately, he chose to do what I know I would have done. He pulled out his gun and shot the armor-plated animal.
Once a bullet leaves a gun, you can’t be completely sure where it might end up. The bullet the gunslinger fired bounced off the animal and hit the man in the head.
This is the second person shot by armadillo-ricochet this year. A few months ago in Georgia, a man shot at an armadillo and the bullet bounced off and hit his mother-in-law.
It is therefore obvious that the government needs to crack down on armadillos, maybe ban them. Americans wanting to shoot themselves and their mothers-in-law should not have to aim at armadillos to get the job done.
But one thing is clear, to some people, at least. Any time we see a live wild animal we need to jump out of our truck and kill it.
I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.
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