Raising the Signal

I trotted down the gravel walkway toward the roadside, scanning the perimeter of the front yard. At the edge of the curb, a black sheet-metal mailbox stood mounted on a stout cedar post, its bright red metal flag resting flat along the side. I paused, tilting my head to examine the brass rivet pinning the lever to the curved casing. Moving in close, I reared up, braced my back legs against the wooden base, and nudged the rounded tab of the flag with my front paw. With a stiff, dry screech of metal friction, the arm pivoted smoothly upward, locking upright at a clean ninety-degree angle. I stepped down, thoroughly pleased with the newly raised marker.