Gemotions

The telephone rang, interrupting his attempt at a peaceful evening. He snapped the phone up, a curt "Hello?" his only greeting. It was Mrs. Henderson, complaining, of course, about the dog. He listened, his face slowly hardening. He stared out the window, at the golden retriever prancing through his petunias. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He felt a deep, almost physical, weariness settle over him. "Right," he replied, his voice flat. "I'll deal with it."