Gemotions

The smell of wet dog permeated the apartment, a constant assault on David's nostrils. He hated it. Hated the damp fur, the muddy paw prints on the freshly vacuumed carpet, the way the dog, a boisterous Labrador, barked at the mailman.

He was sitting at the tiny kitchen table, trying to focus on his work. Each thud of the dog's tail against the wall was another nail in his patience coffin. He'd suggested a dog park. He'd offered to walk the dog. Mark had brushed him off, citing "busy schedules."

David pushed his chair back, the scraping sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. "Can you keep him quiet, at least?" he snapped, his voice sharp. Mark looked up, startled, from where he was cuddling the dog on the floor.