A Pine Needle Compass

I trotted out from the quiet kitchen into the afternoon air, eager to stretch my legs. Beneath the sturdy legs of the picnic table, where the grass thinned to packed gravel, a broad yellow birch leaf lay face down. I pressed my front paw on the center to anchor it. Nearby rested a long, stiff pine needle. Leaning forward, I picked it up lightly between my jaws and set it straight across the leaf’s midrib. With a measured nudge of my black nose, I turned the slender needle until it pointed directly toward the tree line, like an arrow ready for the next path.