Gunhound happily huffed, her tail wagging as the practiced hands of their adopted father Yorick worked through her messy gray and brown fluff, taming the mess into neat braids. He smiled as best as a comically old being with a cartoony skull for a head could, the bells on his hat jingling slightly as he repositioned to better draw his handiwork comfortably to tuck a braid behind a floppy ear.

“Comfortable, dear?” He asked with no sign of his usual playful grandeur. She wagged her tail in confirmation, melting further against his front. He chuckled fondly.

“Good. Well, make sure to tell me if I ever pull too hard, alright?” He advised her warmly, patting the top of their head before continuing on.