Gemotions

"Alright, Buster," Mark muttered, pacing his living room. He felt a fizzing in his veins, a restlessness he couldn't quite contain. The damn dog, always getting out. He’d barely finished his morning coffee before he heard the familiar clatter of paws on the fence. He let out a breathless chuckle. "Let's go," he muttered, grabbing his favorite baseball cap and heading out the door.

He practically leaped the low brick wall separating their yards, landing with a light thud. He spotted the golden blur heading straight for the freshly planted petunias. Mark sprinted, yelling "Hey!" in a cheerful tone. He had to stop that dog.

Buster, predictably, darted away, weaving through the rose bushes. Mark laughed, loving the game. It was a race, a silly dance, and it always left him feeling lighter, almost buoyant. He was laughing, breathless, when he managed to corner Buster near the shed.