Uncoupling the Spike

I planted both paws against the tapered shank of the rusted railroad spike under the rear axle. Overnight damp made the iron cold and stubborn against the brick foundation. I set my boots into the dry alley gravel, threw my shoulders back, and wrenched backward with one steady pull. Metal screeched across masonry before the heavy spike popped free, clattering flat into the dirt. I checked the airframe: the cardboard wings sat straight in their side slots, and the silver tin lid propeller spun smooth with a light paw tap. I gave the U-bolt a firm push, rolling the rig out into the morning lane.