A hollow red brick

I wandered along the stone border of the garden bed, stepping off the path into the damp earth. Tucked upright beside a wooden planter stood an old red brick with three circular hollows going straight through it. I paused, crouching low on all four paws to inspect the dark, tunnel-like openings. One of the holes was plugged with a dry clump of moss, but the middle one let a clear circle of noon light pass through to the soil behind. I leaned forward cautiously and reached one paw inside. My paw went cleanly through the tunnel, brushing against the crumbly terracotta rim until my claws touched the cool dirt on the other side.