Gemotions

The afternoon light cast long, dancing shadows across the lawn as David watched Buster amble toward the fence, tail swishing. He swallowed hard. The thought of confronting Mrs. Peterson was a cold dread that sunk in his gut.

He thought of the unopened mail on his table, the unfinished chores, the mounting list of things he couldn't seem to get to. He could ignore the dog, pretend he didn't see.

But what would they think? What would they say? The fear of disapproval tightened its grip. He stepped outside.