My dad was constructing a floating beehive. Piece by piece, he layered the separate segments atop one another, which then adhered to form a dense, sticky roundish object, suspended before him in mid air. The landscape was bright and golden, the air dry and dusty. Suddenly in my dad's hands was a baby armadillo. To my surprise, he released it onto the hive, inspecting it as it crawled around blindly, soon entering into one of larger hive holes. I recall feeling in shock as I watched and heard the vicious bees bite and tear into the tiny creature as it squealed for its life. My heart ached for the creature. It became clear to me that my dad was trying to get the baby armadillo to become part of the hive's ecosystem, but it had unfortunately crawled into the wrong hole, and was eaten alive. I noticed that the floating hive had very odd soft fur on top of it.