Gemotions

The scruffy terrier, a blur of brown and white, had wriggled under the fence again. It was a familiar sight, the dog's triumphant dash across her perfectly manicured lawn. Sarah watched, frozen, a gardening trowel still clutched in her hand. The sunlight glinted off the dog's wet nose, a tiny pirate flag of mischief.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She found herself utterly incapable of calling out, her voice seemingly locked away. The dog, as if sensing her paralysis, began to frolic, leaping and bounding as if it had discovered the most wonderful playground in the world.

Each leap, each playful nip at the air, filled her with a strange, almost dizzying feeling. The precise rows of her petunias, usually a source of immense pride, seemed to shrink and fade against the backdrop of the dog’s carefree joy. It was as if the mundane world had been momentarily transformed.