Gemotions

The clatter of paws on the patio stones was the first warning. Then came the indignant barking. Agnes scrambled from her porch swing, nearly tripping over the potted geraniums. Her prize-winning zucchini, lovingly tended for months, lay in ruins, a shaggy, grinning face the culprit. She wanted to disappear, melt into the perfectly manicured lawn of her rival, Mrs. Henderson.

"Oh, *Fido*," she sighed, the name a whisper of defeat. The small, fluffy dog, usually contained by a flimsy fence, was again wreaking havoc.

She felt the flush creep up her neck as she surveyed the damage. It was the annual Neighborhood Garden Competition this week.

"I am so very sorry," she said to the dog, the words barely audible.