Armadillo Story

Bright-eyed, tail bushy; Griff stood before the sheer edge of the trembling tree branch. Or was the trembling just mirroring his own nervous shakes? Either way, he was way the hell up there and any armadillo worth his stink would be just as apprehensive.

“Do it you puss!” someone shouted from far below. Way, way down below. No need to be pushy. Bastard.

“I’m doing it,” Griff shouted back. “Great armadillo god help me,” he added under his foul breath.

A quick check of the barometric pressure through his internal gas sack and Griff decided it was time to go. He backed against the trunk, hesitated for just a moment and then…

ARMADILLO FAST NOISE! Griff raced toward the ledge with all his armadillo strength. A step or two left and then… flying through the air! Nothing has ever looked odder, more peculiar. And for good reason, armadillos don’t fly. Hell, they don’t even climb trees.

“He’s doing it. He’s really doing i…”

The excited spectator cut himself off when it became apparent that Griff was indeed NOT doing it. He hurled toward the Earth like a drugged out rockstar that was also fired from a cannon. Before the onlookers could even muster a gasp…

SMACK! Griff hit the ground harder than something of comparable size and weight should. Hard doesn’t even begin to describe how forceful it was. We’re talking super hard.

Needless to say Griff died an exceeding gruesome and stupid death. And that’s how armadillos relearned that they couldn’t fly. They had already known, but it had been a while since they checked.