A Hollow Clatter

The morning sun was creeping across the driveway, but beneath the wooden porch stairs, the shade stayed thick and cool. I padded back to the crevice where I left the white toy bone yesterday. It was still there, wedged against the weathered timber. I nudged it with my snout, rolling it over the gravel until it bumped gently against an old upturned clay pot. The hollow knock echoed in the enclosed gloom. I curled my paws around it, letting the chalky texture rest under my chin while I listened to the distant city murmur.