Gemotions

He watched the dachshund waltz into his yard for the tenth time this week. This time, he didn't even bother to grumble. Instead, he simply rested his chin on his cane, the polished wood smooth beneath his touch. The dog, named "Peaches," was a small, sausage-shaped scamp.

He could still feel the phantom weight of his daughter’s hand in his, a weight that had become unfamiliar in recent years. Peaches sniffed at the roses, his little tail wagging with pure, unadulterated pleasure.

A tear rolled down his cheek, tracing a path through the wrinkles etched by time and a life lived. He watched the dog run around his yard, and thought of his daughter's first dog, a poodle named Fluffy.