Poppy blinked and then turned her head slightly to look at him. "Oh, heeeeey, Craaaaaw," she said, her words slurred.
"Me? I'm fine. I'm fine! Look at me. Do I look like I'm not fine?" She shook her head. "Silly, silly boy. That's okay. You're good." She reached up and patted his cheek distractedly. "Goooooood boy."
He sighed, but couldn't suppress a smile. "I'm going to pick you up and take you to your room, okay?"
She frowned and looked down at the ground. "How did you do that?" She tapped his nose, her expression mildly scolding. "I've been stuck there all day."
"I tried," she said with a frown. "But then Tom told me not to. He said I was going to hurt myself. I hit my head a little bit." She pulled apart her curls on her head, revealing a slight bruise on her scalp. "See? That's when I fell down, and Tom told me to stop moving. He's a good dog. A gooood dog."
"He did," she said with a nod. "He told me about being in the shelter." She blinked, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "Did you know that no one wanted him because he was 'too aggressive'? They were going to put him down, and he knew that but he didn't know how else to behave. He didn't have a choice."
She reached up and held his tie, keeping him close to her. "We could jump out the window," she suggested. "Zoom. Skydiving."
She frowned at him and stood up, pulling off her outer shirt and revealing a peach tank top while heading to the bathroom. "You're a nonbeliever," she called over her shoulder.
