Gemotions

He watched the fluffy Samoyed bound across his meticulously manicured lawn, its white fur a stark contrast to the green. It wasn't the dog's fault; the fence was clearly inadequate. It was Mrs. Peterson's fault, he thought, because she was never around.

He grabbed a leash from the garage and whistled, attempting to get the dog's attention. After a few minutes the dog finally noticed him, and came up with a pant. Its tail, a fluffy plume, wagged slowly. He clipped on the leash.

He debated whether to just leave it at the gate of its yard. He thought better of it, and knocked on the door. He was greeted with silence. He sighed, and deciding to help the poor dog, he started walking around the property searching for an access point to the backyard.