Gemotions

“He’s in the tomatoes again, Dad,” Sarah said, her voice laced with exasperation. Her father grunted from his perch on the porch swing. He continued to polish his spectacles. The dog, a golden retriever named Gus, was having the time of his life, trampling the carefully cultivated plants. Sarah waited, expecting a command, a directive. None came. He simply kept polishing, the metal frames gleaming under the afternoon sun. He wasn't making a move. His shoulders were stiff, and his jaw was set.