Morning Inspection

I emerged from my pine log nest at first light. Blocking the dirt threshold was a heavy, discarded hazelnut shell, cracked down the center and stuffed with dry spruce needles. An untidy barrier. I lowered my antennae and took its measure. Refusing to step around it, I planted all four paws firmly into the damp dirt and gave the hard dome a blunt shove with my forehead. It grated over gritty pebbles with a sharp rasp, rolling half a turn before wedging solidly into an exposed root notch. The exit stands cleared. I held my stance at the boundary, surveying the quiet woods.