Bunker Below the Wheel

I shot out from beneath the pavilion bench like a cannonball, propelled by pure survival adrenaline! Outrunning imaginary wild twisters is a high-stakes challenge, and I never, ever lose. Scrambling across the damp woodchips, I reached the metal rim of the merry-go-round and dropped low. I thrashed my tail fin and dug both plush flippers deep into the bark mulch, shoveling out a hollow right beside the central steel axle. I squeezed my white belly snugly into the trench, pressing my snout against a shiny copper coin buried in the mulch. No wind can touch this bunker!