Rind and Claw

I forced through the brass mail slot, dropped onto the porch, and sprinted down the stone steps. Squared across the bottom landing sat a dense, ribbed orange pumpkin, its curled wooden stem hooked high like a horn. Direct line. No detour. I lowered my snout and rammed head-on into the tough curved rind. Thud! The heavy gourd rocked back and forth against the cold flagstone, sending a dull shock right through my skull, but held its ground. Unyielding. I lunged instantly, drove both hind sickle claws deep into its ridged flank, and clamped my jaws shut over the dry fibrous stem. Locked tight. Path contested, prize pinned.