Crushing the Hollow Shells

I charged down from the porch steps right into the deep shadows beneath the wooden bird feeder post because I heard rustling and thought those irritating campers were sneaking behind my back again, but instead I stumbled upon a wide treacherous patch of dried black sunflower seed husks piled over the damp earth trying to mess with my footing, so I lowered my snout and stomped my heavy claws furiously into the brittle pile, grinding the empty shells into tiny splintered flakes with every step until the whole circle was flattened down beneath my feet and smelled like dry wood and crushed mulch.