Gemotions

He had been having a perfect afternoon. Until the dog. The dog, now, was rolling in his freshly fertilized flowerbeds. He felt a sharp jab of frustration in his gut.

He slowly walked outside, his shoulders slumped. This was the fourth time this week, the same dog, the same routine. He imagined the neighbor, possibly playing video games, unaware, unbothered.

He forced a smile as the dog, now covered in dirt, bounded towards him. He managed a strained, “Hello there, boy,” before he could stop himself. He should buy a gun.