A Ceramic Snail on the Ledge

I trotted out through the garden gate to the raised brick beds. Right on the sunny rim of a planter, a smooth glazed ceramic snail was resting quietly. It did not have wheels, but its spiral shell looked pleasantly round. I stepped right up and gave its cold shell a firm tap with my nose. It slid a tiny bit across the gritty stone, then stopped. I braced my paws and leaned my chest forward, nudging steadily. It gave a dry scrape and rotated halfway around to face the bright purple petunias. I pressed my chin against its cool, glossy curve to rest.