Cast-Metal Sand Shovel

I descended from the pavilion balustrade at sunrise. Across the damp grass lay an open sandbox rimmed in splintered cedar planks. Uncharted expanse. I bounded onto the wooden border. Half-submerged in the coarse gray sand stood a discarded child's cast-aluminum shovel. Bright blue enamel, chipping along the blade. I approached with measured steps. Planted my hind limbs firm on the wood. Lowering my weight, I wedged my curved sickle talon directly under the metal scoop and levered backward with sharp force. Plink. The shovel flipped out of the packed grit, striking the timber ledge with a dry, hollow chime. Inert matter displaced. Perimeter sector surveyed.