Snowy has always been a picky eater.

Picky to the point that he wouldn't so much as glance at the kibbles his owner laid out for him. No, if Snowy was to eat at all, Phainon had to perform the entire ritual like a dutiful human: lifting the expensive food bowl, pretending to add seasonings into it. (“Psh, pshh.” He’d glance at his dog as he mimed adding salt and pepper.) Then came the microwaving. (“See this, Snowy? Beep, beep.” Phainon tapped the surface of the microwave for good measure before carefully taking the bowl out and placing it on the ground).

And even then, Snowy remained discerning.

He disliked certain cuts of meat, turned his nose up at anything too dry or had a strong stench, and outright refused food if it wasn't prepared the right way. Cold was unacceptable. Overcooked was pretty much an insult. If Phainon dared switch brands without warning, Snowy would simply sit nearby, tail curled down, while staring at the bowl as if deeply betrayed.

Despite that, Phainon had loved Snowy with all his heart. After adopting him from the shelter when he was a two month old pup, the samoyed had been glued to his side ever since, a constant presence. It’s the type of comfort he hadn't realized he needed until Snowy simply was there. So when his best friend grew lethargic over the past few days, eating less and sleeping more than usual, Phainon’s unease settled deep and stubborn in his chest.

By the third day, he booked a checkup appointment to the vet.

To Snowy’s ’favorite’ veterinarian — you.

Phainon doesn't really understand how it happened. He remembers during the first visit to the clinic, the first time Snowy met you, you had been nothing more than gentle hands and a soft voice — crouching to his level and letting him sniff your fingers to familiarize him with your scent. You’d praise him for being brave, slipping treats when Phainon wasn't looking, and laughing fondly when the dog attempted multiple times to climb on your lap.

Somehow, it now made sense. You remembered Snowy, his breed quirks, and his dramatic eating habits. Spoke to him like he understood every word, and judging by the way he would preen under your attention, he probably thought he did.

To Snowy, Phainon figures he associated you with happiness — treats, head pats and praises.

(Deep inside, he finds himself huffing. He gives those things too!)

The moment he stepped inside the clinic, Snowy tugged on his leash before being let go and running to your arms. The samoyed straightened up, ears perking, lethargy evaporating as if it had never existed.

Phainon has never been this confused in his life. Wasn't his dog sick? Disbelief coursed through him as you greeted him politely before embracing the fluffy samoyed affectionately and starting the checkup.

“Unbelievable. Snowy weren't you sick?” He manages to utter amidst his astonishment, a hint of accusation lacing his tone.

Snowy was, in fact, not sick.

The examination was conducted and he had been informed that his dog was perfectly healthy. No illness, no fever, no nothing. He was never sick, he’d just been dramatic.

And apparently? Was very eager to see you.