Gemotions

The clanging of the gate, again. Another afternoon ruined by Buster’s boundless enthusiasm. She gripped the cold mug of tea, the ceramic biting into her palm. Her garden, painstakingly curated, was now a patchwork of muddy paw prints and uprooted petunias. She should have said something sooner, should have been firmer the first time.

The mail carrier, Mr. Henderson, gave her a sympathetic glance. He’d seen it all before. "Rough day, Sarah?" he asked, his voice laced with the kind of casual pity that made her stomach churn. She managed a weak smile, the corners of her mouth twitching. She really should have put the fence up last year.

She watched Buster bound across the lawn, chasing a rogue dandelion seed, his tail a happy blur. The guilt settled heavily in her chest, a familiar and unwelcome guest. She knew the neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was struggling. This was her third dog.