Vicious, Hissing, (Giant) Ninjadilloes Attack Brock, Texas: Conclusion

   Well, that is,  he sort of pounced.

   In fact, the Grand-Dilloe was a poor pouncer. He was a fine ditherer. He could change course in mid-sentence according to which attractive Lady-Dilloe beamed at him from the crowd. He could promise fealty to a devoted subordinate, always a better Dilloe than he, dripping huge Dilloe-tears, all the while intent on diminishing the Dilloe in front of him so he could seem the greater Dilloe.

   But, in terms of actual pouncing, well, he was more of a thundering blunderer.

   He threw himself at the exposed throat of the sleeping Em Finity, her head lolled back in a slumber no six year old could penetrate for the moment. The Grand-Dilloe steeled himself with the courage of that one who knows what to do with a helpless victim. He pounced.

   Although, actually, he just stumbled in the dark at his first clumsy step and rolled down the hill, pointy-head over flailing tail, a mad, foolish sight sure to strike his enemies with mirth and his allies with deep shame (again.) 

   "It is safer to be his enemy than his friend," one now deceased Ninjadilloe had said, before the Grand Dilloe sent him to slaughter.

   "He placates his enemies," another now dead Dilloe echoed. "He sacrifices his friends."

    "He runs through friends pretty face," lamented a third, who just left the dominion of the Great Burrow before he could be numbered among the victims of the Grand-Dilloe.

  "Ouch. Ouch. Oooooffff," the Grand-Dilloe puffed at each bounce over the rocks and cactus spears.

   The ground flattened out down toward the house where Em Finity slept the sleep of the innocent heart on her front porch. The Grand-Dilloe rolled to a stop less than ten feet from her resting form. He lay perfectly still against the curbing that stopped his unintended stampede, fearful his Grand Entrance might awaken his victim and render his situation perilous, at best.

   No movement from her.

   She slept.

   His courage returned.

   "Now," he thought. "I will show her some pouncing. I will fall on her like the Grand-Dilloes of old. When I bring her inert form back to the Grand Burrow, I will be welcomed as never before. I will show those Dilloes who is the Grandest Dilloe of them all."

   He leapt. 

   At the apex of his jump, he opened his mouth to hiss, flung out his talons to fill the air with fury. He narrowed his eyes to mere slits, resplendent with the courage of that one who knows his foe is helpless before him. He reached for her, a greedy, grasping, hateful force, all the venom and odium of a master turned out by his students filling his veins. He tried to roar, like the lions of the forest. He sounded as a peeper to any who might have heard but it was a roar to the Grand-Dilloe.

   He was transcendent.

   Super Trooper B. Cooper stepped out from the corner of the house and shot him in mid-air. Trooper Cooper shot him with the smallest gun in his arsenal, dispatching the flying road-rodent with one, casual shot.

   The lifeless Grand-Dilloe hit the porch three feet from Em Finity, making a sick, kind of melon breaking on the pavement kind of sound. He did not move after this one, final plop.

   Even this failed to wake Em Finity.

   Super Trooper B. Cooper picked the lifeless carcass up by its still quivering tail.

   "Well, it was not one of the big ones," he thought, "but, at least, this one won't grub in Em's yard any more."

   He shuffled off with the determined, bent-knee gait of a real man. He disposed of his "trophy" in the church dumpster.

   "I guess the preacher won't care." 

   "He don't seem to like Dilloes any better'n I do."


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