A Crack Beneath the Gate

I walked past the bench and stepped down from the deck into the green yard. The blades of grass parted softly against my sides. Ahead stood the tall wooden garden gate, weathered gray and solid. I paused to examine the narrow gap along the bottom. Caught in the opening was an old brass hose nozzle resting among damp wood chips. I took a deliberate step forward and nudged the cool brass with my muzzle. It rolled half an inch, letting out a dull ring against the timber. Peeking through the cleared space, I could see the wide stone alleyway stretching beyond. The outside is calling.