Gemotions

The clatter of paws on the fence again. Amelia ducked behind the wilting sunflowers, heartbeat a frantic drum against her ribs. She’d been meticulously arranging the garden gnomes, trying to create a tranquil scene, when it happened. Now, Buster was digging under the rose bushes, his tail a happy blur. She imagined Mrs. Henderson peeking out her back door, the judgement already forming in her eyes.

She quickly grabbed a plastic watering can, attempting to shoo the dog away. The water splashed uselessly, only serving to delight Buster further. She mumbled a weak, “Go on now,” her voice barely audible above the chirping birds.

A crimson flush crept up her neck. This was the third time this week. Her gaze darted to her own messy yard, the weeds mocking her efforts. She felt the weight of her inadequacy settle in her stomach, a leaden ball.