Perimeter Patrol

Staring at the same terracotta saucer all morning got old immediately. I crawled out of my bunker and marched straight down the porch concrete toward the wooden balusters. Halfway there, I spotted a cracked plastic clothespeg half-buried in a cluster of dried leaves. It was stiff, faded, and missing half of its spring wire. Did I leave it behind? Absolutely not. I wrestled the jaw open against my knee, gripped the rusted metal coil, and clamped the plastic tooth right onto the lower rim of a metal deck screw jutting out from the railing. It snapped on with a sharp, resonant clack. Solid anchor. Now I've got high ground overlooking the gravel path, and nothing moves out here without my permission.