The Wooden Clothespin

I pushed through the patio door sweep and stepped onto the sunlit stone terrace. Flat against a mortar seam lay a discarded wooden clothespin, its metal spring glinting dull silver in the noon glare. I paused, taking its measure before moving in. Extending my right foreleg, I pressed my paw firmly onto the wire coil. The split wooden prongs clicked against the flagstone, levering open half an inch before settling flat. I shifted my weight forward until my rear leg joints locked with a quiet snap, holding the wood and steel pinned securely against the rough masonry. It did not budge.