Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight trained directly on Clara's face. She groaned, pulling the covers higher, but the warmth remained, a persistent irritation. A bark, sharp and insistent, pierced the quiet. Damn Buster. Again. She dragged herself out of bed, each movement a monumental effort. The prospect of dealing with the escape artist next door filled her with a profound sense of… well, it just felt like too much.

Outside, Buster, a golden retriever with boundless energy, was happily digging in her prize-winning rose bushes. Clara shuffled towards him, the dew-kissed grass chilling her bare feet. "Buster," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and something akin to apathy. "Go home." He wagged his tail, oblivious, and proceeded to uproot another rose.