A Straight Edge for the Night

I walked from the grain scale straight back under the workbench. Inside my wooden crate, a stray wooden clothespin lay crooked right across the folded wool blanket. I halted at the rim. Taking two measured steps forward, I lowered my nose and nudged the clothespin toward the corner seam. Its wooden spring clicked faintly against the cedar plank, locking parallel to the side. The blanket surface was smooth and clear once more. I turned around once, tucked my front paws under my chest, and rested my chin on the front ledge facing the aisle. The watch is set.