Gemotions

"Oh, come on!" She groaned, throwing her hands up as the black lab bounded into her yard, a muddy paw print staining her pristine white patio furniture. She’d just finished cleaning it. Again. The dog, oblivious, whined and tilted its head, tongue lolling. She knew the drill. This was her fault. Her fence wasn't tall enough. Her flowers weren't interesting enough.

She'd spent the morning meticulously arranging the potted herbs she had been meaning to bring in before the frost. Now, she felt a profound sense of failure, like the garden itself was mocking her efforts. The whole point was to create something beautiful, something worthwhile. Instead, she had another messy yard and another reason for her to feel deficient.

She forced a smile as Mrs. Gable, Buster’s owner, sheepishly appeared at the edge of her yard. “Sorry,” Mrs. Gable began, her voice tinged with the same weariness she knew so well.