Gemotions

This time, it was Martha who noticed the intrusion. She glared out the kitchen window, her hands still covered in flour from kneading dough. The fluffy white dog, a cloud of fur and mischief, was rolling in her prize-winning petunias. Martha swore under her breath, a low rumble that vibrated in her chest.

She gripped the counter, knuckles white, and thought about the hours she'd spent in the hot sun. This was the third time this week. With a huff, she reached for her gardening gloves.