Morning Scent Patrol

My nose gears twitched the second the smell of toasted dough drifted from the kitchen. With morning patrol officially underway, I marched right across the linoleum, scaled a wooden chair, and hoisted myself up onto the granite counter. No fresh pizza in sight—just a stainless steel toaster quietly clicking away. I planted my feet firmly, crossed my arms, and kept a sharp eye on that slot until two golden crusts popped up with a startling clatter. The perimeter is totally secure, though I wouldn't mind if it tossed out pepperoni next time.