One morning, Pebble discovered the trash bins had been relocated.
They no longer lived beside the house. They had been placed at the edge of the world — closer to the street, exposed and unattended. Pebble noticed immediately. Important things did not belong that far away.
From the porch she barked at them to return.
They did not.
Mohg walked to the window and sat down. He watched the bins calmly, as though distance were a temporary condition and not a personal insult.
Pebble disagreed.
Later, a large vehicle arrived.
It was loud. It stopped beside the bins. It lifted them without asking and removed their contents completely. Then it set the bins back down, empty and changed.
Pebble was outraged.
She barked furiously at the street, at the truck, at the idea that the bins contents could be stolen in broad daylight as if nothing was amiss. She demanded explanation. She demanded justice.
Mohg did not move.
He watched as the truck left. He continued watching as the bins remained where they were, hollow and offended.
Hours later, the bins were returned to their place beside the house.
Pebble inspected them thoroughly. They smelled wrong. They had been violated. Something essential was missing, and no one had stopped it.
Mohg sniffed once and lay down nearby, satisfied that the bins themselves had survived.
Over the following weeks, the pattern repeated.
The bins moved away.
The truck arrived.
The contents were stolen.
Pebble objected every time.
Eventually, she began to notice the timing.
The theft was consistent. It was scheduled. It happened quickly and ended the same way: the bins returned, lighter but intact.
Pebble did not approve.
