A Row of Dominos

Coming inside from the damp autumn night, I noticed an open wooden box of bone dominoes tilted on the rug. Instead of heading straight to sleep, I felt like setting up a gentle trail. Nudging the first heavy tile with my snout, I stood it on end upon the parquet. One by one, I nudged five more into an unhurried, curved arc. With a deliberate, soft press of my chin against the lead tile, the row tumbled in sequence with a clean, rhythmic clack-clack-clack across the wood. My neck chains clinked softly in harmony, and I watched the neat pattern lie flat in the quiet lamplight.