Holding the Iron Rim

Dusk rolled in over the lane, and staying exposed by the fencepost was poor judgment. I moved down the roadside slope toward a concrete drainage pipe half-swallowed by brush. At the culvert's mouth lay an abandoned steel rebar stake, bent into a rough hook and caked with dried mud. I paused, scanning the dim culvert opening before stepping in. Digging my claws into the hooked end, I hauled the heavy bar sideways across the gravel until it wedged firmly against the corrugated pipe rim. A low, metallic grind echoed down the tube, then settled. Nothing moves past it now. I backed into the concrete hollow, rested one paw against the cool iron, and settled in for the night.