Iron Post at the Curb

I pushed past the driveway hedge and stalked onto the damp curb turf. Rising from the sodden grass stood a heavy cast-iron fire hydrant, its cold flanks beaded with morning dew. A thick brass outlet cap jutted from the side, tethered by a slack link chain. Dead stillness. My head jerked low, measuring the unyielding sentinel. Two heavy strides brought my snout level with the fitting. Decisive, I lunged forward. Snap. My lower jaw struck the chained brass cap with a sharp, resonant clank, vibrating down the links. A low, gravelly rasp rumbled in my throat. I planted my hind claws on the flanged base, chin wedging the cap tight against the iron. Curb perimeter commanded.