Gemotions

He saw the dog, a golden retriever named Charlie, bound into his yard for the fourth time that week. His jaw clenched. He’d tried everything - gentle warnings, phone calls, even a polite note. Nothing worked.

He slowly walked to the garage, the key turning in his hand with a deliberate precision. The metallic scent of gasoline filled his nostrils. He poured a line of it, a shimmering, fragrant trail, right along the boundary of his property.

Later, he watched from his window, a slow, icy smile spreading across his face as Charlie’s owner desperately scrubbed at the dog's paws. The air hung thick with the smell of pet shampoo and…something else.