Gemotions

The scruffy terrier mix, whose name she'd learned was Buster, was back in her rose bushes again. She sighed, a gentle sound that barely disturbed the rustling leaves. Instead of yelling, she chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

She carefully moved towards the dog, her pace slow and deliberate. Buster, sensing a presence, stopped his playful digging and looked up. His tail gave a tentative wag.

“Hey there, you rascal,” she murmured, her voice soft as a summer breeze. She had a small bag of dog biscuits in her pocket.

She crouched down and offered him a treat, her hand extended. Buster, after a moment's hesitation, took it gently. She stroked his head, his rough fur a contrast to her smooth palm.