The Bristle Brush

I pushed through the screen door onto the sunny wooden deck to inspect the boot rack. Propped up against a pair of tall rubber boots was an old, wooden-handled boot brush with stiff coir bristles. I trotted over, gave the coarse fibers a curious sniff, and leaned my shoulder right into the side of it. The bristles provided a wonderfully firm, scratchy rub against my coat. With a steady push of my nose, I slid the brush flat against the grooved cedar boards so I could rest my chin right over the smooth wooden back, enjoying the cozy afternoon breeze.