The six gold anchor buttons had taken on a dull green film from three winters of humid Virginia air.

I took a small blue tin of metal polish and a scrap of cotton flannel from my kit bag.

Knox sat down on the rug beside the footboard, resting his chin on his front paws while I unscrewed the tin’s cap.

I rubbed a dab of gray paste across the top right button.

The brass warmed under the steady friction of my thumb, turning bright and clean against the dark wool.

My right knee throbbed with a dull, heavy pulse from standing on the cold pine boards, but I rested my hand on my right knee and kept my weight balanced.