Gemotions

The audacity. It was early, the sun barely peeking over the fence, and already, that mutt was digging under the rose bushes again. Martha stormed out, arms crossed, the chill morning air biting at her cheeks. She’d spent hours yesterday meticulously pruning those hybrid teas.

"Mr. Henderson!" she called, her voice sharp enough to cut through the stillness. "Your dog! Again!" She pointed a trembling finger at the offending canine, its tail wagging innocently as it sniffed at her prized blooms.

She watched, fists clenched, as the dog ambled back towards the gap in the fence, the same gap she'd filled with bricks *three times* last week. This was simply unacceptable.