Gemotions

The scruffy terrier, a blur of brown and white, squeezed under the fence again. Sarah sighed, the sound a gentle exhalation of air. This was the third time this week, and Mrs. Gable's yard was a disaster. The woman, elderly and frail, struggled to keep up with the overgrown weeds and scattered toys.

Sarah knelt, coaxing the dog with a soft, melodic voice. "Come here, little one. You shouldn't be wandering." She extended a hand, palm up, and the dog, surprisingly, trotted over and nuzzled it.

She led the dog back to its own yard, carefully checking the fence for any obvious escape routes. The wire was loose in a few spots. Picking up the old dog, Sarah carried it through the gate, and looked towards Mrs. Gable's front door with a frown. Something would have to be done.