CAROLINE'S CORNER: ARMADILLO FOR DINNER?

Move over Southeast Missourians, the armadillos are headed your way. They are not a threat to your life, as are killer bees, and you don't need to dress in armor to protect yourself from the small beasts.

I grew up in northern Mississippi when no armadillos graced the landscape. In fact, my outdated 1980 World Book Encyclopedia states that "armadillos are found from Argentina as far north as Texas and Louisiana."

Now, 14 years later, each time I travel in Mississippi, I see several of the small mammals who have expired alongside the road.

Their deceased bodies so intrigue me that I have decided to study their dying habits.

Based on my research on the northward trek of the armadillo, I suspect that the movement might be related to the theory of the hole in the ozone and global warming. There will be more data to support or negate my theory after the observations gathered by the space shuttle Atlantis are studied and released. The $35 million satellite holds an ultraviolet instrument to measure atmospheric gases responsible for ozone damage.

I always see the dead ones in the autumn. This tells me that they have traveled too far north and just can't make it through another winter. They have no place to run and no place to hide from the cold and sleet and snow. I can empathize with their emotions concerning winter, for I too long for the warm climate of Argentina in January.

Armadillos die on their backs with four feet sticking straight up in the air. The body is jointed so that the animal can roll itself into a ball with just the hard shell exposed. This is its only protection from predators. I haven't been able to interview a dead armadillo to learn why they prefer to die on their backs.

Although they are lying beside the road, there is no sign of the deceased having been hit by an automobile. It is certain that the armor is not strong enough to withstand the impact of a 4,000-pound automobile. It appears to me that they should not be classified as roadkill but as road-die.

Armadillos have replaced possum as the roadkill of choice in Mississippi. Somehow I have never been able to eat my can of sun-dried Mississippi possum, a gift from a caring friend. The contents are "pure possum killed by a log truck in front of Uncle Roscoe's house in Rochhill, Mississippi." The directions are to spread the meat on a cracker and eat. It goes best with a Moon Pie and RC Cola.

Now Mississippi sun-dried armadillos are for sale. Another caring friend gave me a can of this tasty tidbit last Christmas. It is placed beside my can of possum, and never will I taste either.

The contents of this gift are "pure armadillo killed by a Yankee tourist on the Natchez Trace." The serving suggestions are the same as those for possum. Although my outdated encyclopedia assures me that the flesh of all armadillos is good to eat, I will have the RC Cola and Moon Pie and pass on the meat.

In my study of armadillos, I asked Minnie May Marble, who grew up in southern Louisiana, if she had any memory of the animals from her childhood. "Shoot, all I remember is Mama and Daddy never could kill the darn things," she said. "They never bothered me. I never became obsessed with why they died where they died."

Armadillo eggs are currently being sold in local grocery stores. Since we all know that most mammals don't lay eggs, I purchased a box just to see what marketing ploy is being used. Doc Bequette of the Roadkill Cafe in Tulsa, Okla., packages the eggs, which are actually jalapeno peppers stuffed with cheese. If this product is a success for Bequette, I can see a whole new world of armadillo products on the grocery shelves in the near future.

Armadillos have even made their way into best-selling novels. In one of my favorite novels, "A Prayer for Owen Meany," written by John Irving, a stuffed armadillo has a prominent position and a chapter named for it.

In the book the young character says, "To a boy from New Hampshire, an armadillo resembled a small dinosaur -- for who in New Hampshire ever heard of 2-foot-long rat with a shell on its back and claws as distinguished as an anteaters? We would hide it in the dark closet and the other one would have to go find it with the aid of only a flashlight. No matter how many times we had seen the armadillo, to come upon it in the black closet -- to suddenly light up its insane, violent face was always frightening. Every time the finder found it, he would yell."

By the year 2010, if the current trend continues, I predict that young boys in New Hampshire will be able to go out beside the road and find their own private armadillos, dead, feet standing straight up and armor undented.