[He doesn't bark, but Will's dog takes notice. His leash is long (he's not fully trained yet, and even though it's dark out, he's sure someone will notice and maybe give him heat about having a "loose" dog, isn't he worried he'd get hurt?), and when he picks up the scent of what appears to be a husky on the loose, Will doesn't stop him from heading in that direction. All he does is prevent the line from getting any longer so he's slower, not wanting to risk his getting too excited and spooking it. He doesn't really need another dog, but he hasn't been doing what he needed to for...well, a while now. He has room. He has a bait shop. He can, ah. Work another one in.
Fortunately, when it comes to collecting stray dogs, he's not completely obvious or utterly insane about it. It's like with his fishing. He tosses out bait, he lures it in, cleans it, and then proceeds to give it shelter and water and food and even love as opposed to putting it on a chopping block and eating it. It's more the action of fishing as opposed to the usual outcome. Since he's out with his dog, there's a little bag of treats tucked away in his pants pocket, which might be smelled rather easily.
It is not a method to get loose dogs without as much effort. Just rewards for his current one.]
Hey. Hey, pal. [He looks so happy to come upon him, the smile on his face positively gigantic, beaming with pure joy. He keeps his distance, only coming as close as he needs to for his mustached pointer to get a good sniff and say hello, but—well, it's rather apparent he'd happily squat down and give the husky a good scratching.] What are you doing in Florida? There's no three dog nights down here. You must be miserable.
[He's not quite as glowing as he was before when he mentions the plight of a dog meant for northern weather stuck in a place so hot, but something else about him is certainly glowing in the wake of headlights passing by just enough to catch them: his eyes. They light up just like an animal's, and with his shaggy hair and his unshaven face...it might seem natural for him to be so eager to meet a dog.]
A
Fortunately, when it comes to collecting stray dogs, he's not completely obvious or utterly insane about it. It's like with his fishing. He tosses out bait, he lures it in, cleans it, and then proceeds to give it shelter and water and food and even love as opposed to putting it on a chopping block and eating it. It's more the action of fishing as opposed to the usual outcome. Since he's out with his dog, there's a little bag of treats tucked away in his pants pocket, which might be smelled rather easily.
It is not a method to get loose dogs without as much effort. Just rewards for his current one.]
Hey. Hey, pal. [He looks so happy to come upon him, the smile on his face positively gigantic, beaming with pure joy. He keeps his distance, only coming as close as he needs to for his mustached pointer to get a good sniff and say hello, but—well, it's rather apparent he'd happily squat down and give the husky a good scratching.] What are you doing in Florida? There's no three dog nights down here. You must be miserable.
[He's not quite as glowing as he was before when he mentions the plight of a dog meant for northern weather stuck in a place so hot, but something else about him is certainly glowing in the wake of headlights passing by just enough to catch them: his eyes. They light up just like an animal's, and with his shaggy hair and his unshaven face...it might seem natural for him to be so eager to meet a dog.]