Coiled Iron

The morning sun warmed the concrete. I left the clay planter behind and pushed further along the brick perimeter. A heavy iron drum stood bolted to the low wall, wrapped in tight coils of thick green hose. A solid construct. I approached without hesitation. A stray brass nozzle lay anchored in the dirt, blocking my intended path. I did not step around it. I planted my hind claws, leaned my chest against the brass cylinder, and shoved. It shifted with a dull scrape against the stones, rolling aside into the soil. The passage is clear. Ground claimed.