Gemotions

The air crackled with unspoken tension. I was in my kitchen, meticulously chopping vegetables, the rhythmic thud of the knife a fragile attempt at order. Then, a loud bark. My hands froze mid-air. I let out a breath and then I went to the window.

Buster. Again, sniffing around my vegetable patch. I closed my eyes, picturing the dog happily digging up my new tomato plants. My lips trembled. I clenched my fists.

I wanted to rush outside, to yell at someone, anyone. The unfairness of it all felt like a physical blow. But I didn't. Instead, I retreated, the vibrant colors of the vegetables suddenly dull and unappetizing.