The dog rolls onto his side, collar clinking against the floor, and then heaves a sigh that could pass for contentment. In truth, it's a bit more philosophical: he knows there's nothing for him to do just now but wait for the two-leggers to sort out their business. The fact that his laid-back attitude is a selling point is coincidental. Sort of.

Daine softens a little as she looks back up at Rush. If he really is fussing because he fears he won't do a good job, that's rather sweet. "He sleeps, mostly. You wouldn't have to do much aside from making sure he has water and feeding him twice a day. He'll let you know if you forget." Raising her eyebrows, she adds, "If walking him is too much trouble, I could come by and do that part." She hopes she won't have to, but her schedule isn't so overflowing that she couldn't.

"Please?" She doesn't add that it would mean a lot, though it would. Nor does she stoop to implying that Rush owes her anything; he doesn't, and she's had her fill of folk acting as if wrecking things was some sort of kindness on her part. "It'd make his life easier."