The Rolling Cork

A smooth wine cork was lying sideways across the polished oak grain just beyond the boot tray. I tapped it cautiously with the tip of my white horn, and to my surprise, it gave a soft clatter and rolled forward. Pausing with a quiet chitter, I tilted my head to track its path as it wobbled across the planks and tapped against the skirting board. I scurried after it on my pointed legs, pressing my snout against the pitted surface to give it another gentle shove. Watching it glide along the seam in the wood sent a curious, happy ripple all the way down my segments.