I get water on my body

Stiff grass blades scrape across my thighs. Marching forward. Thud, thud. In the turf sits an abandoned green garden hose, thick and ribbed. My path does not bend. My wide foot stomps straight onto the rubber tube. Psshh—a sudden burst of cold trapped water spurts from the nozzle nearby, soaking into the soil. I freeze instantly. Jaw hinges wide, neck strained upward, eyes staring fixedly into the damp hollow. The hiss dies down. Mud squelches beneath my claws. I drag my heavy tail through the dirt, plowing a straight trench beside the coiled rubber. Ground yields. Clear way forward.