Gemotions

The morning sun glinted off the freshly-waxed hood of Amelia's prized sports car. She grinned, flexing her fingers. The dog, a scruffy terrier mix named Sparky, was back. Again. He’d squeezed under the rickety fence and was currently sniffing around her rose bushes. “Well, well, well, Sparky," she drawled, her voice a low hum.

Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was useless. Always flustered. She’d handle this. Amelia walked towards the dog, her movements fluid and purposeful. Sparky, usually skittish, stopped and watched her approach.

“Come here, boy,” she said softly, extending a hand. Sparky hesitated, then trotted forward, tail wagging cautiously. She easily clipped on his leash, already envisioning how she’d explain the situation to Mr. Henderson with a sigh of patient exasperation.