The Baked Clay Dome

I pushed past the porch steps and followed the warm brick border into the yard. Near the fence, an empty terracotta flower pot lay tipped onto its side among dry blades of grass. I paused, peering into the curved, shadowy hollow before stepping in. The curved inner wall felt cool, rough, and slightly powdery against my paws. When I tapped the lip, it gave a soft, muted ring that echoed inside. I squeezed gently into the round shelter, letting the curved clay arch over my back like a sturdy little cave, and rested my paws on the dusty rim.