Authors: Gerald Durrell
One of the commonest creatures found in these great grassy areas is the hairy armadillo. These animals live in burrows which they dig for themselves, and which may extend anything up to thirty
or forty feet beneath the surface; and, when they venture forth at night, if anything disturbs or alarms them, they make a bee-line for their burrows and dive down to safety. Naturally, the best
time to hunt for them is at night, and preferably a night when there is little or no moon. We would go out from the ranch-house, in which we were staying, and ride our horses to a suitably remote
spot. From then on we would go on foot, armed with torches, following the two hunting dogs who were experts in finding these little beasts. You have to be able to run very fast when hunting
armadillos, for the dogs generally scamper off some distance ahead, zigzagging about with their noses to the ground. As soon as they find one, they give tongue, and the quarry is off, racing back
to the safety of his burrow. If this is close by, there is little chance of catching him. On our first night out hunting armadillos, we managed to catch some other members of the pampas fauna at
the same time.
We had walked about two miles, wending our way carefully among the giant thistles, which could prick like the spikes of a porcupine if brushing too close to them, when, suddenly, the dogs could
be heard barking ahead of us and we all broke into a run, scrambling and jumping over the tussocks of grass and dodging in and out of the thistles. It was so dark that on more than one occasion I
ran straight into a clump of thistles, and so by the time I reached the place where the dogs were sniffing around their quarry, I was thoroughly pricked all over. The dogs were clustered at a
respectable distance around something in the grass, and upon switching on our torches we saw, standing there very defiantly, a creature about the size of a cat, neatly clad in black and white fur,
and with a handsome black and white bushy tail that stuck up straight in the air: it was a white-backed skunk.
He watched us without the slightest trace of nervousness, obviously convinced that he was more than a match for us and the dogs. He would occasionally utter a little sniff and then give two or
three small bounds towards us, bouncing on his front feet. If we ventured too close, he would turn round and present his bottom to us, peering over his shoulder in a warning manner.
The dogs, who were well aware that the skunk would spray them with his powerful, foul-smelling scent, had kept a discreet distance from him, but while the creature was showing off to us, one of
the dogs, rather unwisely, seized the opportunity to rush in and try to bite him. The skunk jumped straight up into the air and, in the same movement, wheeled round, so that his back was towards
the dog, and the next minute the dog was rolling over and over in the grass, whining and rubbing his face with his paws, while the cold night air was filled with the most pungent and disgusting
odour imaginable. Even though we were some distance away, it made us reel back, coughing and gasping, with the tears running down our cheeks, rather as though we had taken a deep sniff at a bottle
of ammonia.
After this exhibition of his powers, the skunk trotted towards the dogs and gave one or two little skips in their direction that sent them all scuttling out of his way. Then he turned about and
did the same thing to us, and we scuttled just as fast as the dogs had done. Having broken the circle around him, the little animal flicked his handsome tail up and down a couple of times and then
sauntered off through the grass with an air of smug satisfaction.
We decided that we had no particular desire to get on more intimate terms with him, so we called the dogs and went on our way. The dog that had been squirted by the skunk continued to smell
horribly for three to four days after this encounter, although the odour gradually wore off; but as we proceeded on our way the strong scent of the skunk, clinging to his coat, followed us through
the night.
Catching skunks to keep in captivity is a difficult job. If their scent glands are left in, every time they are frightened they are liable to squirt everyone indiscriminately. These glands can
be removed by a very simple operation, but this can only be done really successfully with a young specimen.
Some little time later, the barking of the dogs once more set us off on a wild scamper among the grass and thistles, and now we found that our pack had discovered an armadillo who was scuttling
along as fast as his short legs could carry him towards his burrow, while the dogs, yelping wildly with excitement, ran alongside, trying to bite his back, but making no impression on his
armour-plated hide. He was easily captured, for we just simply ran up behind him, gripped him by the tail and hoisted him into the air, and we soon had him safely inside a sack. Greatly cheered
with our first capture, we eagerly carried on, hoping to catch another one, but our next meeting was with a totally different creature.
We were close on the heels of the dogs, passing a small thicket of bushes, when a rather rat-shaped creature dashed out and disappeared among the thistles. The dogs set off in pursuit, and we
were not far behind when we saw them catch up with the creature and snap at it, whereupon it fell down dead. The men called off the dogs and we approached the corpse. It proved to be a large
opossum: an animal with a body about the size of a small cat, with a long rodent-like face. The body was covered with a brindled chocolate and cream coloured fur, the tail was long and resembled
that of a rat, and the ears, like those of a miniature mule, were bare. When I complained to the men that the dogs had killed him, they all laughed uproariously and told me to look closer. Sure
enough, when I shone my torch on him, I could see that he was still breathing, though doing it very quietly, so that it was almost imperceptible.
I found that I could move him about, even turn him upside down, and he still remained limp and, to all intents and purposes, as lifeless as could be, but in reality this was his method of
defence, for he hoped that eventually, thinking him to be dead, we would go away and leave him to make good his escape. When we were putting our captive into a bag, however, he became alive to the
fact that we had not been taken in by his trick, and wriggled and struggled, spitting through his open mouth like a cat and biting savagely at us. Later on we caught any number of these creatures
and all of them, with the exception of the very young ones, who obviously hadn’t yet learnt the trick of feigning death, tried to deceive us in exactly the same way.
On our way back to the ranch the dogs found yet another hairy armadillo and, this time, I was treated to a display of the little animal’s great strength. He was not far from his burrow
when the dogs found him, and we were fairly close, but by the time we had caught up with him he had reached the mouth of his tunnel. One of the men flung himself forward in a magnificent flying
tackle and caught hold of the armadillo’s tail just as he disappeared into the earth. Another man and I threw ourselves, panting, alongside the first, and each of us grabbed one of the
armadillo’s hind legs. Now, only the forequarters of the beast were inside the tunnel, yet by digging his claws into the earth and by hunching his back and wedging it against the top of the
burrow, he prevented the three of us from pulling him out, although we tugged and struggled as hard as we could.
It wasn’t until the fourth member of our party arrived on the scene and with the aid of his hunting knife cut away some of the turf that we were able to haul out the little creature. Then
out he came, like a cork out of a bottle and with such suddenness that we all fell on our backs and lost our grip on him, so that he nearly made his escape the second time.
These two armadillos which we had caught very soon settled down and grew remarkably tame. I kept them in a cage which had a separate sleeping compartment; and they would spend the whole day
lying there on their backs side by side, their jaws twitching, and uttering strangled snores. It was amazing how deeply they slept, for one could bang on the cage, shout at them, and even prod
their pink, wrinkled tummies, and still they would lie there as if dead. The only way to rouse them was to rattle a food pan and, however gently this was done, they would both be wide awake and on
their feet within the blinking of an eye.
All the species of armadillo in South America are used as food. I never had the opportunity of trying one, but I believe that when carefully roasted inside their shells – naturally after
having been killed first – they taste like roast sucking-pig and are quite delicious. Many of the gauchos (South American equivalent of the North American cowboys) catch these little animals
and keep them in barrels full of earth as a sort of larder, so that on special occasions they will be able to have roast armadillo.
As we were making our way home with our first captives, in the still night air I heard the distant sound of hoofbeats on the turf, gradually coming nearer and nearer, and then stopping suddenly
within a few feet of us. It was rather a weird sensation, and I wondered for a moment if it might be the ghost of some old gaucho forever galloping across the pampas. On asking my companions where
the horse was that I thought I could hear, they all shrugged and in unison said ‘Tucotuco.’ It was then I realized what had caused the peculiar sound.
The tucotuco is a little animal about the size of a rat with a round, plump face and a short furry tail. He excavates enormous galleries just below the surface of the pampas and in these he
lives, coming out only at night in search for the plants and roots on which he feeds. This strange little beast has very sensitive hearing and when he catches the vibration of footsteps on the turf
above his home, he gives out his warning sound, to let all the other tucotucos in the district know that there is danger about. How he produces this excellent imitation of a galloping horse is a
mystery, but it may be his cry which, distorted by distance and echoes in his burrow, takes on the odd cropping quality of a galloping horse. Incidentally, tucotucos are very wary little beasts,
and though we tried by many different methods to capture them, I was never successful in obtaining a specimen of this little creature which must be one of the commonest of the pampas fauna.
While we were staying in the Argentine, one of the things I particularly wanted to do was to make a cine-film of an old-fashioned gaucho hunt. The old style of gaucho hunting has nearly died out
now, though many of the men still know how to do it. The animal, or bird, is pursued by men on horseback. Their weapons consist of the deadly boleadoras which are three balls attached to three
lengths of string, all of which are joined together. These are whirled around the men’s heads and then thrown. As they strike the quarry’s legs, each ball on its cord swings round in a
different direction, thus entangling the beast and bringing it to the ground.
There is a relative of the ostrich that lives in South America, called the rhea. It is not such a big bird as its African cousin, and its plumage is ash-grey instead of black and white, but the
one thing that they both have in common is an ability to run extraordinarily fast. This bird used to be the chief quarry for this type of hunting in the days when rheas were found in vast flocks
living on the pampas. On the ranch of a friend of mine there was still quite a large number of these birds living, and my friend offered to ask the gauchos if they would organize a rhea hunt, so
that I could film it.
We set off early one morning; I in a small cart with a camera and other photographic apparatus, the gauchos riding on their magnificent horses. We made our way out across the pampas for some
miles, weaving in and out of the thickets of the giant thistle. Presently, we disturbed a pair of spur-winged plovers who leapt into the air and flew around us, giving their alarm call, and, to our
annoyance, warning every living creature for miles around of our approach. They accompanied us as we made our way forward, keeping an eye on us and keeping the pampas informed of our progress.
We had reached a large thicket of thistle plants when we were suddenly warned by ear-splitting cries from one of the gauchos that our quarry was at hand. Standing up in the cart, I could see a
greyish shape dodging quickly among the thistles, and then, quite suddenly, the first rhea leapt out on to the open grass. He came bounding like a ballet dancer out of the thistles, stopped for one
brief moment to look at us and then streaked off, his head and neck stretched out, his large feet almost touching his chin with each step. Quickly, one of the gauchos galloped out of the thistles
and endeavoured to cut him off. The rhea seemed to stop in mid-stride, twirled round like a top and dashed off in the opposite direction, taking huge bounding strides, which made it look as though
he were on springs.
He was very soon lost to sight, with the gauchos in hot pursuit. Before we had time to follow, another bird made its appearance out of the thistles. I could see this was a female, because she
was much smaller than the previous one and a much lighter grey. To my surprise, she did not rush off in pursuit of her mate, but stood on the grass, dithering anxiously from one foot to the other.
There was a crackling among the thistles and I saw the reason for her delayed flight. Out of the thistles scrambled her babies, ten of them, each standing about eighteen inches high and with round
fat bodies, half the size of a football, balancing on thin stumpy legs and great splayed feet. They were covered with fluffy down and neatly striped with fawn and cream. They all clustered round
their mother’s feet, and she glanced at them lovingly. Then she trotted off across the pampas, running almost in slow motion, so that her babies strung out in a line behind her could keep up
with her. As we had no wish to chase and frighten her, we turned the cart round and made our way in the opposite direction.
It was not long before one of the gauchos came galloping up to the cart, his eyes shining, to tell us that not far ahead he could see quite a large flock of rheas crouching in the thistles. He
explained that if we went in the cart in a certain direction and I set up the camera, he and the other gauchos would surround the birds and drive them towards me, so that I could film them.