Gemotions

The morning sun felt heavy on Eleanor's face as she shuffled out to retrieve the newspaper. Another day, another escape. Buster, the golden retriever next door, was already halfway across her lawn, tail wagging furiously as he sniffed at her prize-winning rose bushes. Sighing, she dragged herself towards him. The effort felt monumental. "Buster," she mumbled, her voice lacking its usual pep, "back home, you rascal."

She trudged after him, her feet seeming to sink into the dewy grass. Reaching the fence, she leaned her weary frame against the weathered wood, watching Buster disappear into his own backyard, his boundless energy a stark contrast to her current inertia. It was going to be a long day.