The Rolling Spool

I pushed past the terrace door into the warm hallway, leaving the dusky garden behind. Right at the fringed edge of the runner rug, a chunky wooden honey dipper lay dropped on its side. Its ridged head looked like a stack of tiny wooden wheels. Curious about how it rolled, I ambled forward and nudged the rounded handle with my snout. It spun away in a slow, wobbling curve across the polished floorboards, clattering softly before the grooved rings caught on the thick carpet fringe. I stepped up, rested both white paws firmly against the grooved wooden tip, and gave a steady, mellow grunt as it rocked in place.