Gemotions

"Oh, no, not again," muttered Emily, but her voice was barely above a whisper. The fluffy Samoyed, whose name she now knew was Luna, was halfway through her meticulous flowerbed. Emily usually went ballistic, especially since she'd just replanted her prize roses.

She stood perfectly still, her hands at her side, eyes wide, as Luna sniffed at each bloom with careful consideration. The dog nudged a bud with her nose, then promptly moved on to the next.

A strange warmth spread through her chest. The delicate petals of the roses, usually a source of such worry, seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun. Her usual frantic energy was replaced with a kind of hushed wonder.