Breaching the Perimeter

The yard under the patio table grew still, so I pushed past the flagstones toward the wild cedar hedge along the outer fence. A dropped wooden clothespin blocked the dirt path, its metal spring glaring in the morning glare. An obstacle. I lowered my snout and rammed it flat into the needle bed. Beneath the lower cedar boughs, a heavy discarded zinc garden trowel lay rusted and half-buried in cold earth. A blunt iron challenger. I hooked both foreclaws under the rusted neck and hoisted hard with full torque. Grunt. The metal blade tore free of the roots with a sharp rasp, flipping over to reveal damp, squirming soil. I planted both heavy feet onto the scoop, teeth bared to the fence gap, and let out a blunt, clicking hiss.