Here I go again. My eyes are glazed over. My brain is numb. It’s time to write and I’ve got nothing.

Since I first sat down today to write this yet-unknown-story that is developing right in front of my very eyes, I have had a difficult time coming up with anything you’d want to hear about.

Since I had no ideas formulating, I drove 30 miles to eat breakfast at Waffle House. I’d do about anything for a good story. I figured, why not? I can always count on Waffle House to give me a story.

Truth is, I already had agreed to meet a friend there, but that’s beside the point.

Meet Cassie. That’s Cass-y, not Casey. Her skills as a waitress do Waffle House proud. She’s polite, called us “gentlemen” and everything. She was spot on with the orders. She even sang to us.

But I still came home empty on story material.

Finally, it occurred to me that I could tell you about my armadillo war here at the house. So far, I have removed three from my property. But the command center keeps sending replacements.

I have varied my tactics from week to week. I’ve set out traps. I’ve filled up their dens with concrete. I’ve gone out late at night with a flashlight taped to the grip of my 12gauge. I feel like the score is 3 to 50 in their favor.

Early this morning, before the Waffle House run, I was sitting on my back porch drinking coffee and hoping a story idea would come up and greet me. I heard a rustling sound outside the screen windows. It was shortly after 6am and pitch-black outside.

“Maybe it’s a deer,” I thought. “Could be an armored rat.”

But I convinced myself that by the time I turned on the flood lights and looked, whatever it was would be gone.

A few minutes later, I heard it again. So, I figured why not at least try to see what’s out there. If it runs off, nothing lost.

I walked into the kitchen and flipped the switch for the back floodlights. Then, quietly, I stepped back out on the porch and stood at the screen. Sure enough, an armadillo was waddling along the edge of the grass line toward the driveway.

I got excited. It was like sitting in a deer stand, hearing the leaves rustle, and then the Big One steps out into the clearing.

I took off for the back room where I keep my anti-armadillo devices. I chose wisely and headed for the kitchen door. The house is still mostly dark. I flipped on the side porch light and the front floodlights to give me more of an advantage.

I’m barefooted. I’ve got my silky night shorts on and a long-sleeved T. I have no idea where my glasses are and I’m praying I won’t need them. I’m only halfway through my first cup of coffee, which means I may not be firing on all cylinders just yet.

I go steadily down the steps from the kitchen porch to the driveway. I look to my right where I think the beast should be. Nothing.

I ease out onto the asphalt, sneak past the front of my truck, and, again, take a peek to my right. There he is. He’s waddling along at the end of the driveway, making his way beneath the basketball goal.

I pump the anti-armadillo device. He stops in his tracks.

My research tells me that armadillos can’t see worth a spit, but they can hear a grub grunting six inches beneath the grass in your front yard.

This is the reason for my current strategic maneuvers at pre-dawn hours. These little buggers are making my lawn look like an entire mine field went off in a war zone. I have brand new turf. Zoysia sod just laid back in May. I’ve been slaving all summer to keep it alive.

This lawn was one of my retirement goals. I’m not about to let some critter ruin my investment.

He pauses, and then he lunges forward at a much faster pace. He is no longer waddling. He is strutting. I’m pretty sure he looked my way just before he went down the terrace next to the driveway and ran behind a bush.

That’s when I made my move to get closer. I can still see him but not clearly. There’s a small opening between the bushes just ahead of him. I figure, if he keeps moving in the same direction, that opening will be my only chance.

He’s just sitting there behind the base of a bush. I know he’s listening. I’m breathing so quietly I can’t hear myself breath. I can feel a small pebble under my right foot. But I’m not moving.

Without my glasses, I can see him just fine. It’s the sights at the long end of my anti-armadillo device that I can’t see. Especially in the dark. Plus, there was no time to grab my flashlight.

He goes on the move again. This time slowly, like before. He’s headed straight for the clearing.

I take one step forward and drop to one knee. I’m calling upon the spirits of all my marksmen ancestors. He steps into the clearing. I have my device ready. The shadow of my truck from the floodlights is not helping. I still cannot see the sights.

At just the right moment, I launch the anti-armadillo device.

What happened next was almost unbelievable. The sounds were horrible. It’s hard to describe in a family friendly way just how many times and in how many different ways an armadillo can turn flips.

The leaf litter was thrashed. I could hear the sound of sticks snapping. I could feel the edges of my lips beginning to turn upward into a tiny but justified smile.

Then, the early morning darkness went silent.

At this point, I hadn’t moved an inch. I just listened. I was confident that my mission had been successful.

Being barefooted and feeling some serious bladder pressure, I made a decision. “I’ll go get him after it gets daylight.” Shoes, I thought, would be a good idea.

So, before going to Waffle House, I did a brief exploratory search. No armadillo. No evidence that the launch of my anti-armadillo device was accurate.

When I got back from Waffle House, I did a more thorough search. Still nothing. Nada. Zero. Not a trace of an armored rat anywhere.

I did find about 5 or 6 more dug out armadillo dens in the woods around the house. The reality that settles in over me is that I need to up my game, use a bigger anti-armadillo device, and pre-load before going outside.

I shall not quit until my lawn is safe.

I do apologize if I’ve offended anyone with a pet armadillo. If you want more, message me and you can come get mine.

In the meantime, I’m gonna add more flood lights and set my alarm for 5am. And before I go to bed, I’m gonna lay my glasses on the table by the kitchen door.

I’ll not miss next time.