A Rolling Canister

A round green plastic thread spool rattled across the gravel path ahead. Wind pushed it. It bounced against a rusted nail, changing direction toward the ditch. Erratic movement. I closed the distance in two broad strides. Claws dug into the crushed stone. I lowered my heavy snout and struck the rolling spool directly against its flat flange. It skidded two inches, then snapped into stillness between my jaw and a jagged granite pebble. I planted my left foot claw across its cylindrical core to verify the hold. Solid compression. Zero drift remains.