Greg Van Helsing returned to the house after failing to complete a contract, and he was in a sour mood. He sank into the loveseat that was quickly becoming his loveseat. The geriatric corgi, Flapjack, struggled to his feet with a loud groan and then approached. Standing before the big man, Flapjack tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“What do you want?” he growled.

Flapjack did a quick circle, stopped, and cocked his head slightly again.

“Peter,” Greg called, “the dog wants something.”

Peter appeared moments later holding a long stick with white cloth wrapped around one end of it and his bottle of bleach cleaner. He assessed the situation from the hall. “He wants you to take him on a walk.”

“It’s your dog. You take him on a walk.”

“Hmm,” Peter hmm’d thoughtfully, scratching at his chin and looking at Greg apologetically. “Did he do a little circle?”

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“Yes, but I don’t…”

“He wants you to take him for a walk.”

Greg scowled down at the dog. Flapjack’s droopy old face looked absolutely pathetic, drool pooling in the sagging skin of his lips, eyes pleading. He looked back to Peter, unsure if he could even believe that Peter knew what the dog wanted from just the look on his face. “Do you want to go on a walk?” he asked Flapjack.

“Sure,” Peter said brightly. “I’ll grab his leash.”

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and everyone in the entire neighborhood seemed to be cutting their grass when Peter, Greg, and Flapjack exited the Mayhew residence. They turned right toward a nearby park and set off. Nine minutes later, only two blocks from the house, Greg and Flapjack released simultaneous sighs. The dog laid down and rolled onto his side. The monster hunter rolled his eyes, gazing into the cloudless sky as though praying for strength. Peter Mayhew was crouched low, happily scratching behind the ears of an orange tabby as it wove between his legs, nuzzling affectionately into him. It was the third cat so far.

“Are you going to do this every time we pass a cat?” Greg asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Flapjack look up at him with a long suffering expression. “This is why you wanted me to take you on a walk, isn't it big guy?”

Flapjack closed his eyes and began to snore, clearly feigning sleep. After a moment, Peter stood and Flapjack groaned dramatically as he, too, got back to his feet, and they continued toward the park. A fluffy, ridiculous looking tortoiseshell Persian approached, tail raised, not more than 30 seconds later. This one, Peter walked past without stopping.

“Donut is an asshole,” Peter explained, noticing Greg's surprise.