The Spinning Ring

I pushed through the screen door latch to feel the afternoon air, trotting along the damp patio tiles until I reached the shade under the slatted wooden bench. Resting among fallen twigs was a discarded metal key ring holding two small brass eyelet screws. I crouched low, blinking quietly until the rustling leaves settled. Creeping close, I nudged the hoop with one plush paw. The ring wobbled upright, spinning across the smooth flagstone in a rapid, chiming circle. Surprised by the dancing metallic buzz beneath my toes, I tucked my chin in tight, and the little frog buckle on my belly warmed with a steady golden glow. I leaned back against the bench leg, letting out a soft hum.