Morning Inspection

Stared down a polished wooden peg resting upright against the table leg. It looked like an uncarved totem from deep waters. I scraped my lower jaw forward across the smooth oak boards, wedging my blunt teeth beneath its bevel. One solid upward jerk and the timber cylinder clattered sideways, rolling two inches until it hit a familiar wall of black fur. My black companion opened one lazy amber eye, giving a sleepy snort that rattled across my brow. Don't go back to sleep, clumsy dog. It's salvage, not firewood. He rested a heavy dark paw directly over the rolled timber, locking it tight to the floor. Good sentry. We hold the ground.