A Clothespin Fleet

I slithered past the edge of the entryway rug, feeling the morning breeze sneak in under the front door. Right beside the wooden shoe rack, three wooden clothespins had fallen from a low shelf, lying scattered like dormant rover chassis in a dusty canyon. I used my horned snout to nudge the longest peg straight, then wedged the smaller clips across its middle with my chin until the spring tension locked them together with a firm, hollow click. Rolling the balanced contraption forward with my bumpy coils, it skittered across the floorboards like a six-legged scout ready for an expedition.