A Crunch in the Dry Grass

I pushed through the screen door gap to scout outside, eager to trade the quiet house for wilder ground. The dry lawn was full of whispers. A crisp, rhythmic rustle stirred beneath a clump of brown leaves near the stone path. Instantly, I puffed up, neck frill snapping wide to assert my domain over whatever lurked beneath. I held completely still, sizing it up. Out crept a shiny black garden beetle, plodding steadily forward without the slightest fear of my display. Intrigued rather than threatened, I eased my frill down and tipped my head low, tracking its methodical trek across the sunlit gravel.