Gemotions

He paced, phone pressed to his ear, listening to the monotonous hold music. Another missed phone call. Another angry client. The dog, a fluffy white cloud named Snowball, was once again lounging in Mr. Henderson's meticulously manicured lawn, leaving behind muddy paw prints and a trail of chaos.

"I need a solution! Today!" Mark snapped into the phone when someone finally picked up. His career, his livelihood, hinged on keeping his clients happy. And that meant keeping Snowball contained. He'd tried everything. The invisible fence, the reinforced gate, the angry glares. None of it had worked.

The knot in his stomach tightened. He closed his eyes, picturing the irate email he knew he'd receive. This was the third time this week. He felt the familiar thrum of anxiety behind his ribs. He needed a win, a break. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his agitated fingers.