Gemotions

He found himself pacing the perimeter of his yard, his hands clenched into fists. This was the third time this week. The thought of it made his stomach churn. That slobbery, overgrown mutt was trampling his prize-winning tomatoes, scattering the carefully placed mulch.

He glared at the dog through the fence, its tail wagging innocently as it sniffed at his herb garden. A red flush crept up his neck, and he felt a heat rise in his cheeks. He could hear his heart thrumming against his ribs.

“Honestly,” he muttered under his breath. He envisioned the look on his neighbor’s face when he inevitably had to ask them to control their pet again, a face that always seemed to imply *he* was the problem.