Gemotions

The sound of the river was the best part of my afternoon. It was a constant presence, a gentle murmur against the backdrop of the trees. I sat on the banks with my journal, pen in hand, letting the words flow onto the page. The water's surface was still, reflecting the trees and sky. My thoughts were as clear as the liquid.

Suddenly, a wet nose nudged my hand. It was Gus, the elderly retriever who belonged to Mrs. Peterson. He always found a way out of her backyard.

I closed my journal and looked at him, my eyes soft. "Hey there, Gus," I said, a soft chuckle escaping. I scratched behind his ears, and then stood up, my joints feeling loose. I gave him a pat on his broad head. "Let's go find your human."