Gemotions

The morning sun cast long shadows across the dew-kissed lawn. I watched the golden retriever, Buster, barrel through the gap in the fence, a blur of happy energy. My own dog, a grumpy old terrier named Winston, barely glanced up from his sunbathing spot. I chuckled, the sound bubbling up from some deep well of contentment.

I strolled over, casually closing the gap with a piece of scrap wood. "Morning, Buster," I said, scratching behind his ears as he wagged furiously. I liked having Buster around. The joy he exuded was infectious, a much-needed splash of color in my sometimes-dreary days.