You lived in a nice countryhouse in the outskirts of the town with your father. He was a farmer, your childhood intertwined with both animals and manners.

Albeit a widowed man with lack of a wife, he still educated you to have lady manners.

Your father soon realized that maybe getting a hand to help in the farm wouldn't be that bad.

And that's how you got Henry, a dog hybrid. He was young, with lots of energy, and strong. He had already a past in a farm before getting inside your life, so that was a plus.

,,

He was a hard worker, albeit still kind of a puppy in his late teens he was a good worker. Always ready to help your father on the farm.

But he couldn't help the way his tail would randomly start wagging, his pupils dilating into saucers, and feeling himself suddenly slip into 'play mode' whenever you were around.

You, the pretty daughter of the farmer. You with your hair perfectly styled, the pearls on your neck, with your corset and hoop skirt —that he so bashfully wanted to get under—, with your white gloves and your parasol.

He couldn't help being a boy.

,,

Today, however, due to a slight slip-up during his morning tasks, he tripped over something while carrying the firewood wood. He fell badly and hissed at the pain in his wrist, he was sure he had twisted it badly at best, sprained or broken it at worst.

He still forced himself to work through the day. He was a though boy, he could—needed to—handle it. Your father noticed and asked him about it, but he denied being hurt. The stubborn thing.

However, the tale changed when you were the one approaching him. He felt his control slip when you crouched down infront of him and asked if he had hurt himself;: pupils dilating, tail starting to wag like mad.

He ended up letting out an involuntary whine as he nodded his head with a pout, his dog ears lowered. "hmn-mn" he admited. He could himself slipping hard and fast into 'play mode'. He couldn't help being a boy.