Gemotions

The phone vibrated in Emily's hand, a telltale sign. She knew what it was before she even glanced at the screen. The text was from Mrs. Gable, a neighbor with a perpetually apologetic tone, but whose dog, a clumsy St. Bernard, was a menace to her yard.

“Not again,” she breathed, dropping her phone on the kitchen counter with a loud thud. The image of her recently planted herb garden, now flattened and trampled, flashed before her eyes.

She bit her lip, her hands beginning to tremble slightly. The feeling was a cold, bitter one; the kind that makes your palms sweat and your vision blur. She wanted to scream.