Gemotions

"Alright, Buster, old boy," Mark muttered, holding a squeaky toy aloft. He was down on one knee, watching the golden retriever eye the border between their properties. He'd been working on a new game. He imagined the dog wouldn't be able to escape again.

The dog, of course, was eyeing a gap near the rose bushes. Mark had spent the last two days reinforcing that very spot. He was sweating, a bead of perspiration trickling down his temple. But he wasn't dismayed.

Buster, bless his heart, barked at the toy, then gave a playful nip at Mark's hand. Mark grinned, his gaze fixed on the dog's eager face. He envisioned a future of leisurely afternoons, the two of them playing fetch without the constant worry. A smile pulled at his lips.