Gemotions

My back ached. I’d spent the entire morning weeding the rose bushes, meticulously clearing away the crabgrass that seemed to sprout overnight. Now, here he was. Buster, a golden retriever with a serious lack of spatial awareness, was happily trotting across the meticulously manicured lawn, leaving muddy paw prints on the freshly mown grass.

I let out a groan, a sound that escaped before I could stop it. I’d already asked the Smiths, the owners, to keep him in. I’d tried being nice. I’d baked them cookies. None of it had worked.

My hands clenched into fists. I felt a heat rising in my chest. Another hour spent cleaning up after his latest transgression. The thought made my jaw tighten.