3/23/2026, 10:09 PM
"Ain't nothin' 'bout wakin' me, couldn't care less 'bout that," he reassured, carefully licking at her ears. There were worse things he could imagine than a bit of disturbed rest, least where she was involved. Bogart didn't have much in the way of connections before. His humans were caring, loving, and for their devotion he offered his own, but he'd never had another dog's companionship; he had their company, their back as they had his, but unless work called for it, his existence was monotonous, quiet, and lonesome.
Raisa was the first canine who he sincerely saw with great importance.
What would he do if suddenly he was asked to be on his own again?
Well, he reckoned he'd miss her.
"You?"
If overthinking had driven her astray, what trouble was she sitting on and how frightening was it? He hated the idea of pushing for answers at a rate that'd satiate his uncertain impatience, his instinct bordered on interrogation. He just... If something had so deeply disturbed her, Bogart wanted to fix it; he wanted her to know he would fix it.
Why are you here?
Bogart opened his mouth to speak, squeaked out a, ""Cause I saw—" and was promptly cut off. "—oh, right."
His brows furrowed, jaw working at words yet to surface on his tongue. The question caught him off guard. "You offered?" Bogart posed his rebuttal with near naive amounts of confused innocence. "I wanted to be with ya', you offered, it worked out I was reckonin'?" Because, naturally, his first thought had him fret that he'd done something to have unsettled her. His stomach lurched just to think about it.
"I," he smacked his jaws to wet his suddenly parched tongue, "I've stayed cause of you, Raisa. I've liked what we've been doin', liked this, like us."
Whatever they were.
He settled down on his haunches next, ears drawn slightly back. "If ya' ain't favorin' it no more though, I'd get it."
Raisa was the first canine who he sincerely saw with great importance.
What would he do if suddenly he was asked to be on his own again?
Well, he reckoned he'd miss her.
"You?"
If overthinking had driven her astray, what trouble was she sitting on and how frightening was it? He hated the idea of pushing for answers at a rate that'd satiate his uncertain impatience, his instinct bordered on interrogation. He just... If something had so deeply disturbed her, Bogart wanted to fix it; he wanted her to know he would fix it.
Why are you here?
Bogart opened his mouth to speak, squeaked out a, ""Cause I saw—" and was promptly cut off. "—oh, right."
His brows furrowed, jaw working at words yet to surface on his tongue. The question caught him off guard. "You offered?" Bogart posed his rebuttal with near naive amounts of confused innocence. "I wanted to be with ya', you offered, it worked out I was reckonin'?" Because, naturally, his first thought had him fret that he'd done something to have unsettled her. His stomach lurched just to think about it.
"I," he smacked his jaws to wet his suddenly parched tongue, "I've stayed cause of you, Raisa. I've liked what we've been doin', liked this, like us."
Whatever they were.
He settled down on his haunches next, ears drawn slightly back. "If ya' ain't favorin' it no more though, I'd get it."
