Gemotions

The incessant barking had started at dawn. It was a rhythmic, high-pitched yap that grated on Eleanor’s nerves. She pulled the covers over her head, wishing for the blessed quiet of a snow day. She threw back the covers, her muscles tense with irritation, and peered through the blinds. There, amidst the tulips she had meticulously planted, was that mutt, frolicking as if it owned the place. She slammed the window shut, the glass rattling in its frame. “Not again,” she muttered under her breath, a low growl forming in her chest.