Gemotions

The clatter of nails on the patio stones snapped Amelia out of her reverie. Again. That blasted terrier, Winston, was back. Her heart thumped a frantic tattoo against her ribs. She slammed the book shut, the cover slapping against the worn wood of the table. A tremor ran through her fingers, making her grip the edge until her knuckles were white.

"Not again," she muttered, the words a barely audible breath. Winston, a whirlwind of white fur, was already halfway across her perfectly manicured lawn, sniffing with unrestrained zeal. She stood, her legs feeling like they were charged with electricity.

She marched towards the fence, her pace quickening with each step. "Get out of here, you little rascal!" she yelled, her voice sharper than she intended. The dog, oblivious, simply wagged its tail, a fluffy plume of pure, unadulterated joy.