Gemotions

The poodle, fluffy and white, was currently attempting to bury a bone in my prize-winning marigolds. I found myself frozen. This was the third time this week. My heart hammered against my ribs. I'd been planning on having a barbecue.

I felt a peculiar lightness, a disconnect, as if I were observing myself from above. My arms hung limp at my sides. The vibrant orange of the marigolds seemed to mock me.

"That's… that's quite something," I muttered to the empty air, my voice barely audible above the chirping of the birds. The poodle looked up, its dark eyes gleaming with pure, unadulterated canine delight.