MY 50-STATE STRATEGY

A 9-RING CIRCUS: This amadillo, one of the 9-ring variety found in the Southern U.S., was awkward in motion but fleet afoot, as it demonstrated after we interrupted its lunch.

UNICORN QUEST CONTINUES
“…….You'll see green alligators and long-necked geese………Some humpty backed camels and some chimpanzees…….Some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as you're born…………”

I’LL GET BACK TO THE TUNE LATER BECAUSE this story won't wait. Even though I dropped off the Poet Sunday evening at a luxury hotel for his Orlando conference (These I.T. guys know how to live!), he didn’t depart unscathed.
Earlier in the afternoon, we took a ride northeast over to the Space Coast, hoping some pictures might be in the offing around Cape Canaveral.
As we were cruising up the access road to the Space Center, we spied maybe a half-dozen alligator heads poking out of the stream over to the right. We stopped to check one out. We stood watching the gator in the ankle-high grass on the bank above it, when suddenly the Poet started doing a pseudo-Mexican hat dance, shedding his sandals and slapping at his left ankle.
Fire Ants!
In a matter of seconds, these nasty pests gnawed the Poet’s ankle in about 30 spots. He got rid of the ants, but not the fire. Swollen and covered instantly with small reddish welts, his ankle looked pretty uncomfortable and, in point of fact, quite scathed. I’m not ashamed to say I’m glad it wasn’t me (note to self: Never wear sandals!).
We later cruised down to the Space Center gate. Since we were on the clock to get the Poet back for his conference, we decided we didn’t have enough time to justify going on the three hours-plus tour (the Poet had already visited, and I will at a later date), so we backtracked toward a sign we had passed before advertising helicopter tours of the Center. We briefly considered taking the flight but the weather was lousy for Florida – raw and windy. We speculated that the wind was blowing a steady 20-25, but constantly gusting into the 40-50 mph range. Anyway, the breezes put the kibosh on the chopper ride, so we took off north for Daytona Beach via the Merritt Island Wildlife Sanctuary.
Along with an alligator mom warily watching her newborns, we saw a ton of birds, of which the Poet can chat about as if he was an avian idiot savant (a single glance upward and he might confidently declare, “Look! Look! Look! ……. ‘Twas a blue three-footed cherry-pit purse snatcher ……. A female, ya can always tell by the tips of the feathers ……. See!…..Looks like it’s mating season”). Don’t laugh. That’s a real talent. Besides the concentration of knowledge involved, my eyes aren’t half that sharp.
We also came upon an armadillo rooting around in the dirt, looking for some insects to eat. So we - of course - stopped to bother it (see above).
The trip up to Daytona wasn’t a complete waste, despite the weather, as the Poet proved once again that he will swim anywhere, any time, any reason at all.
The foamy swells at the beach were running ashore up to eight feet tall, the air was chilly, the wind was howling, the water was dark, the sky was darker and nobody was anywhere near the waves. The lifeguard had obviously nodded off, ‘cause he didn’t peep as the Poet dove right in about 30 feet in front of his elevated perch.
After a very brief dunking, the Poet was tossed back onshore, complaining that he shouldn’t have worn his sandals in the water as they were being grabbed by the heavy undertow (note to self: Never wear sandals!).
So where was I before all that?
Oh yeah. Singing that Irish Rovers’ song……Even though we saw an alligator, an armadillo and some ants (hopefully covering the As of the Animal Kingdom quiz?), as the song says:

“………You're never gonna see no unicorns.”

Even though , the unicorn’s way at the other end of the alphabet, I promise I’ll keep my eye out for one.

* * *
On the lighter side of a bad moment, as the Poet was hoping around, trying to shed the ants, a women cop (probably NASA security) pulled up to move us along on the access road. Rolling down her window, just like the last million times, she starts in on the standard mundane speech she probably gives to all gator-ogling trespassers, of which there seemed to be quite a few. “This a restricted road. Unless it’s an emergency, you can’t be park …..” I interrupted her rote recital by saying this wasn’t a bad emergency, just some fire ants, but … Totally flabbergasted that we may – incredibly - have had a legitimate reason to be by the side of the road, she pulled back, absorbing the shock, then sat quiet, nonplussed, for several seconds. Next she asked the Poet if he needed medical attention. He shook her off in between slaps on his ankle. After ordering us to leave as soon as we could, she drove away shaking her head. Seems like there is a first time for everything.