Being holed up is not a problem for me. I've holed up for lots of reasons over the decades to survive jinky situations–some of my own making, others not at all. Those of my own making are easy to bear up under, having no one to blame but myself. Situations not of my making are just irksome and only slightly less easily endured. Practice and plenty of hobbies to practice at make it so. One of the latest hole ups not of my choosing was caused by a nasty virus apparently gifted to the world by China. Caught the bug from an early vector direct from Wuhan which swiftly fled the hotzone and traveled to Colorado Springs before flying south to transmit via handshake to me. Not so holed up by it now, though, after being inoculated and boosted a couple of times too, but emerging hasn't required a huge behavior shift for me anyway. I like being holed up because quite frankly there's nothing much I haven't already seen which I can't see again from here adequately enough–and more often than not even better than I could ever see in person–to satisfy. Biding time is the key.
This armored creature was chased into a corner by Sky last night. A corner she held it in until it finally decided to dig in and hole up against the nightmarishly persistent border collie. I heard her barking at it long before dawn but was too lazy to get up and go find out what she was going on about. Sleeping almost till noon I finally went outside to find her repeatedly lunging into a hole between barking fits. Armadillos really know how to hole up. Sky kept yanking at this one's tail in vain. Pulling an armadillo out of a hole may be possible using some sort of mechanized heavy equipment but I could never do it by hand and sheer muscle power. So I knew she never would succeed either and locked her on the back porch, getting her off its back to see if it would leave soon of its own accord.
It didn't. Checking again a few times throughout the rest of the day, the creature stayed put. Biding time.
Just before sundown I decided to urge it out of its hole by filling it with water. That did the trick. The armadillo reluctantly backed up out of the hole and sniffed the air for danger. A gentle nudge at its nose turned it toward the open gate and off it loped into the woods south of Sky's one-quarter acre living space. It audibly grunted along the entire distance of open ground. Sky yipped excitedly from the porch at me for spoiling her fun.
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