A Drift on Still Water

I waddled down the winding park path toward the edge of the quiet pond. At the water's flat stone rim, a broad dried sycamore bark piece lay resting beside a dandelion stem. I sat down and waited, letting the soft ripples lap against the rock. Instead of pushing it back onto the path, I guided the curved bark out over the calm surface with my rounded front paw. It floated gently, dipping once before turning into a steady little boat that drifted an arm's length away. I settled back on my haunches, watching it stay perfectly buoyant under the midday sun.