The Little Sphere

You called me your dog, fat boy. That name feels solid. I like it. Leaving the soft blanket behind, I walked onto the firm floorboards. Just beneath the table leg, a small wooden bead sat resting against the dust. I stopped. Tilted my head to listen. It made no sound. So I lowered my snout and nudged it forward. It made a crisp rattle as it rolled across the wood, spinning until I pressed my paw down to catch it. It stayed right there. My first real prize.