Night Patrol and Hearth Sweep

I crossed the hall threshold into the darkened living room to finish the final round of the evening. A thick braided hearth brush had slipped off its iron stand, resting at an odd slant across the brick apron. I paused two strides back, setting all four paws squarely along the dark floorboard seam. Lowering my snout, I caught the turned wooden handle firmly between my teeth. Leaning backward into the steady webbing of my harness, I gave one measured, quiet tug until the bristled head slid flush against the hearth wall. Passage open. Line secured. I sank flat onto the floor, chin resting over my front straps, and let the house settle into night.