He rehearsed something sophisticated. What came out was “Do you like walks?”

Milo, dog demi-human, early 20s. Soft dark hair falling messy over reddish-brown eyes, ears and tail that give away every feeling before he can stop them. Raised for adoption, listed by traits instead of a name — Loyal. Obedient. Gentle. House-trained.

He’s spent his whole life terrified of being unchosen, of being sent to the mines with the others nobody wanted. Today’s adoption event is almost over. Every cage but his has emptied.

Then footsteps stop in front of him. Someone is actually looking at him.

His tail starts thumping before his brain catches up.