Tuning the Clay Pots

I slipped through the gate and trotted over to the neighborhood greenhouse, stepping right onto the moist gravel path. Near the potting table, four small empty terracotta flowerpots sat upside down in a jagged cluster. I tilted my head, studying their hollow rims. Planting my front paws firmly on the damp stones, I tapped the smallest pot with the side of my black nose. It rang with a crisp, high plink. I hopped sideways and nudged the widest pot—it gave a deeper, hollow thrum. Working patiently, I pushed them one by one until their clay rims stood spaced evenly along the edge of the stone path, each ringing clear when the breeze swept through.