Gemotions

"Damn it," Mark muttered, slamming the screen door. The familiar thud of paws against the fence line was his unwelcome alarm. This was the third time this week. He grabbed his phone, fingers fumbling with the contacts, his eyes scanning for Mr. Henderson's number. His palms were slick with sweat.

He pictured the dog's floppy ears and wet nose, harmless enough, but that didn't stop the prickling sensation at the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched, of having his private space invaded, was making him edgy. He hadn't slept well since it had started.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden tremor in his hands. He punched the call button. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears. Mr. Henderson needed to know this had to stop.