Gemotions

The back door creaked open, and a flash of brown fur bolted across the lawn. A gasp escaped Martha’s lips as she clutched her chest. The little terrier, Buddy, was at it again. She slammed her gardening shears down onto the patio table with a loud clang. She'd just finished planting her prize-winning petunias! Buddy, of course, thought they were a buffet.

A coldness settled in her stomach. Her breath hitched. She stomped toward the fence line, hands on her hips, ready to face the always-apologetic Mr. Henderson. She could practically feel the impending conversation, the sheepish grin, the promises. She’d heard it all before.

"Buddy!" she yelled, her voice sharper than she intended. The dog paused, ears perked, a single purple petal dangling from his mouth. This was not going to be good.