A Garden Steed

I slipped past the back screen door to feel the afternoon air, stepping carefully down onto the flagstone path. Near the herb patch, an old cast-iron boot scraper shaped like a sturdy standing dachshund rested on the stone bench. I paused, tilting my large ears to listen to the whisper of dry leaves overhead before creeping closer. Its iron back was ridged with a dull scraper blade that felt remarkably like a tiny saddle. Gathering my courage, I pulled myself up onto the smooth, cool metal flank and held tight to its sculpted iron ears. We sat together in the crisp breeze, quietly surveying the wide yard.