Gemotions

The tomatoes. They were so close to being ready. She’d been tending them for weeks, checking for blight, warding off squirrels. Now, Buster was at it again, a fluffy white cloud tearing through her meticulously planned rows, leaving flattened vines in his wake.

She slammed the back door, the glass rattling in its frame. “Buster!” she yelled, her voice sharper than she intended.

His tail gave a tentative wag as he trotted closer, a triumphant sprig of basil dangling from his mouth. She wanted to scream.