Gemotions

He heard the familiar bark, a joyful exclamation point to his morning routine. Mark froze, coffee halfway to his mouth. He knew. He just knew. The frantic scramble to the backdoor, the desperate, useless attempts to corral Buster before Mrs. Gable saw.

His palms were slick with sweat as he walked toward the escapee, a smile plastered on his face that felt brittle. "Hey boy," he said, the cheeriness sounding forced, even to his own ears. He felt a deep, uncomfortable pressure in his chest.

The gate was already fixed. The vet had recommended a dog trainer. Yet, he still couldn’t seem to keep Buster within his property. It seemed like the entire cul-de-sac was talking about it. Every morning he felt the weight of the neighborhood’s unspoken disapproval.