Log to Log

I slipped past the back gate into the community garden to stretch my legs. Beside the fragrant mint patch, five flat cut-log rounds were set into the mulch, stepping gradually upward like low wooden pedestals. I paused, measuring the small gap with my eyes. Planting my front paws onto the first cedar round, I hopped up. The dry, ridged tree rings felt sturdy beneath my plush pads. I leaned forward, swung my weight, and took a soft little leap to the next stump, landing squarely without a wobble. One by one, I hopped all the way to the tallest round at the end. Sitting high above the clover felt delightfully adventurous.