A Crisp Golden Tag

I poked my nose out from the woolen glove and padded toward the open doorway. Right against the weathered wooden threshold, a small brass luggage tag lay caught between two grain lines. I paused two paw-lengths back... and tilted my head. A faint morning draft tugged at its short leather strap. Slowly, I reached out a front paw and patted the slick metal edge. It tipped with a clear, tiny chime against the wood. I crouched down low, resting my chin on the dry threshold to watch the bright morning sun gleam across its smooth surface.