Gemotions

The scent of wet dog, mixed with that of cheap cleaning fluid, filled the air. It was repulsive.

"He's not that much trouble," Mark said, attempting to sound casual. He patted the golden retriever, whose tail wagged with innocent enthusiasm.

David stood rigid, arms crossed, and his face was a mask. His expression was a wall. He hated the smell. He hated the hair. He hated the slobber.

He had voiced his concerns, pointed out the impracticalities, the extra responsibilities. Now, he refused to even speak. He was immovable.

He turned and walked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He would not be present for the 'fun'.