The Iron Beetle's Grip

I planted me left boot firm onto the ribbed back of the cast-iron beetle bootjack by the cottage doorway, pinning the heavy creature to the pine floorboards. Me grand round belly let out an exhausted, ghostly groan that rattled me ribs, eager to shed the day's town dust! Wedging the heel of me right boot between the beetle’s iron horns, I leaned me vast middle forward and gave a hearty, stubborn heave. Tug-slip-pop! The stiff leather slid free with a grand thud, sending me rocking back against the sturdy doorpost with a soft chuckle. Wiggling me tired toes in me woollen socks, me tummy settled into a peaceful, drowsy purr fit for bed.