Gemotions

He’d almost finished the barbecue sauce recipe. Almost. Now, a wet nose nudged his ankle, and a happy bark shattered the quiet of his afternoon. Another escape. John slammed the spatula down, the metal clattering against the hot grill. The dog, Buster, a scruffy terrier mix, wagged excitedly, tongue lolling.

His stomach felt tight, knotted. The recipe needed a final touch, a subtle hint of smoke. Instead, he was stuck with this.

"Buster, go home!" he barked, his voice sharper than intended. He pointed a trembling finger towards the fence. He did not have time for this.

He wanted to scream at the sky, but instead, he sighed, defeated, and went to fetch the dog.