Gemotions

He'd started keeping a log. Each escape was meticulously noted: date, time, and the extent of the damage. A small, obsessive journal hidden in the back of his desk drawer. He had planned to sell his house this fall. How could he show off his property with the constant intrusions? He'd already had to repair the fence twice. He felt the familiar heat rise in his chest as he heard the telltale click of the latch. "I swear," he muttered, his voice tight, "if that dog even LOOKS at my prize-winning tomatoes..."