by

Onan A. Hill

Me and this armadillo had a terrible fight.
We woke up all the neighbors in the middle of the night.

He had visited my yard on numerous trips
and dug enough divots to bury a fleet of battleships.

I vowed I'd get vengeance and sat up several nights.
But, alas, no luck, I never got him in my sights.

I was bleary eyed and weary and tired as I could be,
When Wanda awakened me on the morning of April three.

She called me downstairs and pointed out the front door glass.
There was that armadillo--a throwin' dirt and digging grass.

When I dashed to get my shotgun, she turned on the light.
By the time I reached downstairs again, he was plum' out of sight.

I pointed and gestured but there was nothing to shoot.
I lost the armadillo and had an argument to boot.

Wanda made me solemnly swear that I would never ever shoot.
She said, "You'll wake the neighbors, and besides he's kinda cute."

I went off to bed again, disgruntled and mad.
But using a shotgun wasn't the only plan I had.

The next day I brought my shovel from the garage to the house.
I was going to kill that varmint in spite of my spouse.

Along about midnight my neighbor's dog began a querulous bark.
I sneaked down the stairs--real quietly--and peered into the dark.

I could barely see that armadillo, a throwin' dirt both left and right.
I grabbed my shovel, turned on the light, and we began the fight.

I ploughed through the door, the shovel out thrust,
Determined that armidillo would bite the dust.

I swiped at the critter and slid right past.
I hadn't counted on the rain soaked grassl

I landed with a crash of my septuagenarian body.
And throught, "Oh, my gosh, he's been takin' karate."

I sat up dazed and heard Wanda's anguished cry.
Now, she was afraid that I, not the critter, would die.

Adrenalin coursed through my veins like a tonic.
I groaned to my feet, feeling less than bionic.

I spied the creature, lumbering toward his lair.
And there I stood--stunned, barefooted, and in my muddy underwear.

An imprecation passed from my frothing lips.
I picked up the shovel and wiped the mud from my hips.

The Villain was leaving the scene at two miles per year,
As I gave chase, this time in a lower gear.

the tank like creature is really very slow.
But what he lacks in speed, he makes up in to and fro.

If I slammed to the left, he moved to the right.
I could see I was in for a miserable night.

When the shovel crashed down on the concrete drive,
The vibration in my arm screamed that I was still alive.

But the clang was heard for a mile around.
Alas, I had awakened at least half the town.

The "dilla" turned the corner, headed for the woods in back.
As my shovel slammed once again, there was a loud crack.

When the shovel handle broke, I pitched forward on my nose.
Now, I was covered in mud from my head to my toes.

I threw the broken handle at the disappearing cad.
As you might guess, my aim was still bad.

I had been outwitted by an I.Q. of four.
Right then, I couldn't convince myself that mine was any more.

I trudged back to the house, defeated, with an aching arm and a bloody nose.
But Wanda wouldn't let me enter the house till she washed me down with a hose.

By now the neighbors had gathered, some to laugh, others to glower.
But I left them to Wanda. I paid no mind. I was headed for the shower.