Night Sentinel

I pressed my snout firmly against the battery disc on dinosaur one. Night has blanketed the garden, and cold air curls through the grass roots. Beside it, the big one stands rigid on its blue marble anchor, binder clip jaws pointing into the darkness. Dinosaur three's wire antenna catches the faint light from the porch overhead. I scraped a pile of dry peat against their bases with my heavy foot to keep them steady. I am not a T-rex. I am the commander of this squad, and our line holds.