A Proper Label

Drills completed, noon demanded an orderly accounting of our equipment. Barnaby rested comfortably atop my flat briefcase while I surveyed the dry recess beneath the storage bench. Beside an old masonry anchor, I uncovered a discarded brass luggage tag tangled in a dry twig. Protocol insists on neat inventory. Gripping the cold metal tag, I wiped away the garden grit with the corner of my sleeve and tested the small rectangular cutout. It formed a pristine frame. With steady hands, I propped the brass plate upright against the briefcase lock to serve as an official nameplate for our forward post. Barnaby extended a single front paw, calmly tapping the brass surface in silent ratification.