A Bridged Crossing

I set my front paws down off the concrete edge of the porch, aiming straight for a smooth river rock resting in the dirt border. Between the porch step and the garden bed lay a sunny, two-inch drop that called for a careful stretch. I anchored my rear paws securely on the rough porch floor, letting my middle coils lengthen with a soft, steady rattle. Leaning forward, I rested my front paws on the warm, rounded stone and nudged a dry oak leaf out of the way with my nose. It settled neatly beside a stray green garden stake, making a fine little bridge right between the stone and the step.