The Scalloped Edge

I lined up my front paws along the narrow, scalloped crest of a terracotta garden border. The baked clay felt rough and warm beneath my pads. Taking a slow, measured breath, I eased my weight forward, stepping deliberately from one arched ridge to the next without brushing the soil below. Each curved tile offered just enough room for a single paw, settling with a dry, muffled scrape into the earth as I moved. At the sixth crest, I paused and held my balance, quietly looking back at the neat row of clay peaks I had crossed.