Look, Will did not know that Mike could be a dog, so when a limping, whining rottie came flopping up on his lawn, what else was he supposed to think except that this was dog number two, destined to take up the empty dog bed in his room? It was a one-time thing, God.

Will doesn't stick around to check out any abs or pecs (he gets that from Jeff Winger enough as it is, he does not need any more internal agonizing about his inadequacy when it comes to never ever being able to have a six pack), so he misses out on the scar show begging to have silver dollars popped off of it. No, Will goes to get just what he said, a smashing pair of black waders, this pair with the boots built right in. If Matthew wants to be warm, fine by Will. Can't handle the heat, get out of the sunny stream.

Okay, he's not that cruel. There will be shade. Working in the shadows is just so comfortable and familiar.

"Don't have any pants around here, unfortunately. Just these." But the way Will twirls them and looks them over is akin to what another man might do with a pair of perfectly tailored suit pants from a big name designer. "If you're sure about risking the pants, then this is the best I can give you. I keep all my stuff in the car."

So he's always ready to go. He is a boy scout of fishing, prepared in ways others might be envious of. Or just find really sad, either way.