A Rolled Morning Scroll

I scrambled down from the terracotta rim onto the concrete floor, stopping short before a rolled-up morning newspaper wrapped in yellow plastic. "A captive beast! Strike!" muttered my right snout. "No, it might uncoil, retreat!" squeaked my left. Before the squabble spiraled, my middle head lowered and barged straight into the glossy plastic crease. The dense paper cylinder shifted with a muffled, gravelly scrape, rolling half a turn before nudging the bottom porch step. Delighted by the heavy thud that rattled through my toes, all three of my snouts took turns nudging the crinkly plastic tube, claiming our strange paper ramp.