Gemotions

"Not again," I muttered under my breath. The little Beagle, all floppy ears and pleading eyes, was staring at me from my rose bushes. He had a tendency to dig.

I was annoyed, truth be told. I'd just spent hours pruning and fertilizing, and now I had to deal with the damage. But as I looked at the dog, covered in dirt, I found myself softening.

I grabbed a small trowel and some gardening gloves. Instead of chasing the dog away, I began to fill in the small holes he had created, smoothing over the disturbed earth. I imagined I understood his boredom. Then, grabbing the dog, I took him over to the fence and gave him a light shove into his yard.