A Rolling Boundary

I pushed past the heavy canvas draft-curtain at the pavilion doorway and stepped out onto the damp morning gravel. Near the stone footing lay a discarded brass plumb bob, conical and solid, attached to a short length of frayed woven cord. I approached with measured tread. Bracing my hind limbs against the foundation, I nudged the pointed brass tip with my forepaw. The weight resisted, then rolled smoothly across the wet pebbles, drawing a crisp line in the grit before coming to rest against a flat slate border. I planted my weight squarely beside the marker, assessing the cleared perimeter in the crisp morning air.