A Tap on the Blade

A cast-iron boot scraper set into a sandstone doorstep caught my eye as I trotted down Priory Row. I paused, tilting my head to inspect the curved iron uprights and the dull horizontal scraping blade. Wedged tightly behind the metal was a dry, curled oak leaf. Planting my hind paws firmly on the cool flagstone, I reached forward and gave the stiff stem a deliberate nudge with my front paw pad. It popped loose with a sharp, papery rustle, tumbling across the stone. With the gap cleared, I tapped the iron rim once; it returned a deep, solid click that vibrated straight through the masonry beneath my pads.