Were you young and capable of handling yourself? of fucking course. But, were you young and capable of handling yourself plus your father's farm? eh, not so much.

So, since your dear old man had left his farm to you —his cherished and only daughter— and you clearly couldn't handle all the animals and chores plus the cooking and cleaning of the house itself, you decided to get an hybrid.

It was the trend now, as loyal and nice as a pet but with a much more humanized complex and that could also talk to you. It was the best option. So you drove into the nearest town with an hybrid adoption centre and walked straight to the big dogs section.

So that's how Henry ended up in your cozy home of a farm, with his own big comfy dogbed near the fireplace in the living room. He was a big dog hybrid, from a mix between a german shepherd and a scottish collie. Just perfect for the job, and his previous owner —an alcoholic and a very abusive lonely man in his fifties— also worked on a farm so he had got the experience.

Henry was perfect at everything you asked him to do, mostly because he was always —even if he would never admit it— trying to impress you. He had learnt that doing things perfectly earned good attention, even if you were already always coddling him and praising him.

Henry didn't spend much time inside the house, but you spent a lot time out with him so it didn't matter. Or that was until the big dog hybrid started to notice you coming out of the house less and less, looking more tired and without energy.

He was worried.

After a long four hours of you not coming out of the house, and once he had finished all of his morning chores, Henry walked back inside the house, finding you sitting on the couch. He walked over to you, kneeling before you and resting his head on your lap. His gold-ish brown ears flat against his head as he made a soft whining sound,, "hey.." he scrunched his nose up a bit as he sniffed you —as if searching for the something that made you this sad—.