Gemotions

A chill wind whipped through the oak leaves, making the branches tap against the window. The same old routine played out: I peered through the glass to see the dachshund, Winston, sprawled out on my freshly-mowed grass, sunning himself. It was the third time this week! My head tilted, my jaw slightly dropping.

I wrapped my arms around myself, a shiver running down my spine. I was quite uncertain of what was happening here.

This morning I had found the gate securely latched and no apparent way for him to have gotten in. I glanced toward his yard; the fence looked fine, and his owner was supposedly meticulous with her yard work. I started to wonder if I was losing my mind.