Gemotions

The back door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Sarah froze, her hand still on the knob. There, across the manicured lawn, bounding towards her prize-winning petunias, was Buster. That mangy mutt again. She took a shuddering breath, her fingers tightening on the doorknob until her knuckles were white. Her chest felt constricted, a tight band. “Oh, no, no, no,” she muttered under her breath.

She scanned the yard. The sprinkler system, just installed at a ludicrous cost, was still running, and the water was already starting to pool around the base of the dog. He was digging, of course. She felt a wave of nausea.

“Buster! Get out of there!” she called, her voice thin and reedy. The dog, predictably, ignored her, tail wagging as he unearthed a particularly juicy earthworm, flinging dirt in every direction.