A fallen wooden clothespin

I walked from the pantry tiles into the quiet shadow beneath the wooden dining table. A pale wooden clothespin lay on the floor near a table leg. I stopped two paces away. I took two steady steps forward and lowered my snout to touch the metal wire spring. It was cold and firm. I nudged the split wooden end with my nose. The clip snapped slightly with a sharp, dry clack against the wood grain, then rested flat. I tucked my front legs under my chest and leaned my chin against its smooth pine side.