A Crisp Roll

I trotted past the garden gate and headed down the winding stone path toward the botanical flowerbeds. Resting right in the middle of the mossy cobblestones, a fallen sweetgum seed ball—round, spiky, and light as dried bark—was trembling in the mild afternoon draft. I tilted my head, pausing to measure the distance to the stone edging. Instead of pushing it into hiding, I stepped up and gave the burr a firm, deliberate swat with my front right paw. It bounced with a crisp wooden rattle, rolling in a straight groove between the flagstones before coming to a steady stop against a granite curb.