Gemotions

He watched from his porch swing, a thin smile plastered on his face. Spot, the Bernese Mountain Dog, was back in his rose bushes, happily trotting back and forth, dragging his leash behind him. The sight grated on his nerves. The way the dog's fur gleamed in the sunlight, the carefree way he bounded through the plants… it was all irritating.

He leaned back, the swing creaking with the movement. He’d been trying to get his prize-winning roses to bloom for years, but the squirrels always got to them first. Spot, on the other hand, seemed to treat the garden as his personal playground.

“He’s just a big, slobbering oaf,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes remained fixed on the dog. He imagined the dog's owner, probably some oblivious woman, laughing at the chaos. He shifted his weight, a familiar tightness beginning in his chest.