Gemotions

The air crackled with the humidity of a summer evening, but that didn’t deter Greg from his evening ritual. He sat on his porch, a cold beer in hand, his eyes scanning the neighboring yards. He knew.

He heard the telltale yaps and the scrape of nails on the fence. He saw it.

The escape, a ritual now, was at hand. He chuckled softly to himself, a genuine rumble in his chest. He rose, stretched, and strolled towards the fence. He had been planning this for weeks.

He greeted the escaping golden retriever with a casual wave. He pointed the dog back towards his yard. Then he turned to his own. The dog's owner, Sarah, was staring at him, mouth slightly agape. He smiled and gave her a slight nod before settling back on his porch.