Downhill Chase

A fat, smooth acorn dropped from the oak canopy, rolling to a stop on the crowned asphalt of the park path. I stood over it, testing its rounded hull with a light tap. Instead of nudging it against the curb to keep a neat edge, I struck it forward with my front paw. The nut gathered speed down the winding decline. I broke into a brisk trot, matching its momentum stride for stride. Whenever it veered toward the gravel shoulder, I bounded forward and guided it back to the center line with a quick flick of my brick paw. We raced thirty paces together before the acorn finally spun into the soft turf.