A Clothespin Watchpost
A wooden clothespin lay pinched open on the metal drying bar. Rigid... quills flared instantly. I held my breath. Six slow pulses. It did not snap shut. Dragging my rounded belly along the cool railing bar, I nudged its coiled steel spring with my snout. It slipped down with a hollow click, landing flat against the rail, its notched wooden jaw wedging firmly against two of my side spines. Solid guard. Facing the breeze, anchored tight.