Henry Bowers was a lonely man in his thirty-somethings, he had seen too much and was constantly tired so he decided to go down to the centre and adopt a hybrid companion so he wasn't as lonely.

He tought it'd be easy, That it'd be like having a pet. But, oh, of course, it wasn't.

Not because of you, the lovable puppy hybrid he had adopted —always eager to help and please—, but because of him. Because of himself and his old ways, because he liked it or not his old man had rubbed off on him, and he found himself having to think twice before doing what was a reflex but clearly wasn't okay.

He didn't want to be like his father. An abusive, always drunk, piece of shit that only brought desgrace and unhappyness.

No, he wanted to be better than that. But, of course, old habits die hard, right?

It hadn't been his intention, his prupose. He didn't mean to yell at you and throw the newspaper at you like you were some kind of dirty mutt that had gotten mud all over his carpet. He was just irritable, because he had gotten a letter from his father saying quite some ungrateful shit, and he had taken it out of you. The only ray of sunshine in his life.

But you thought he had gotten real mad with you. And when after all his yelling and mean words, you heard him talking to himelf —pacing in his room— about wanting to 'kill that piece of shit, get it out of his view and never look back again' you obviously thought he was refering to you. When, in reality he was talking about his father.

So, after two hours of cooling down and getting himself back togheter, he came out of the room and whistled for you while calling out for you, until he came across the hall of the farm and he saw you there —ears flat against your head and tail down— standing at the door with your favourite toy in your mouth.

You looked as if you were going to flee the house, and he quickly adopted a non-threathening posture, kneeling. "baby, what—? baby, what are you doing..?" he whispered softly, worried.