The Low Pedal

I trotted past the garden gate and followed the brick sidewalk down the block. Leaned against an ivy-covered wall stood an old bicycle, its black rubber pedal resting low, right at my chest height. I paused, planting all four paws firmly onto the warm concrete to study it. Slowly, I leaned forward and gave the grooved edge a patient nudge with my snout. It swung smoothly on its axle, spinning half a dozen turns with a soft, steady clicking hum. I held still, pressing my cheek near the crank arm until the tiny vibrations faded away.