Three Pinecones

I lined up three dry pinecones on the flat patio flagstones. They stood upright in a neat row. I paused. I stepped back four steady lengths and checked the aim. Right in front of me sat a heavy, round river stone. Going around was not the goal this time. I lowered my snout. I braced my tail firmly against the stone pavers. One hard, deliberate push. The river stone rumbled forward with a dry, hollow roar. Clack. Direct strike. The middle pinecone tumbled backward. The other two clattered flat onto the grit. I trotted up to the fallen row and tapped the smooth stone with my right claw. All three were down.