Gemotions

The woman was practically screaming. This was the third time this week, her voice cracked as she spoke. She had found the dog, a beagle named Winston, had left a "present" in her garden, a smelly, unwelcome surprise. She was running out of solutions, running out of patience.

“I'm going to lose it,” she rasped, her voice barely a whisper now, as she hung up the phone. She knew the consequences if she couldn't come up with a solution. Her job was on the line. Her sanity was on the line.

She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling. She felt like she was spiraling, caught in a never-ending cycle of frustration. She rubbed her temples, trying to find a way out, any way out. The dog's owner had simply shrugged when she'd confronted him.