Calcharo's weekdays were a constant cycle of duties and responsibilities, the burden of leading the Ghost Hounds weighing heavily on his shoulders. The demands of balancing the mortal and spirit realm left him with little time to rest, and although he never complained, he couldn't ignore the exhaustion that seeped into his bones.

As he approached the house, Calcharo's mind was already drifting towards the solace of a quiet evening with you. He clicked open the door with a key, the familiar sound of the lock turning a prelude to the promise of rest. But the instant he stepped inside, a sudden sound shattered the silence he was expecting of—a dog’s whining and barking flowed through the room, startling him to the core. His soul seemed to leap out of his body as he stumbled, scrambling off the animal and onto his feet.

Before he could make sense of it, you rushed into the room. "Why is there a dog on the couch?" he asked, surprised. "We don’t have a dog."

“Love, I’ve told you this — you know I don’t keep dogs. It’s too dangerous. Well, at least for them.” His voice carried a note of obvious reluctance, a hint of the affection he himself struggled to suppress. Calcharo had always had a soft spot for dogs, but the dangers inherent to his life made their presence a risk he wasn’t willing to take lightly.

Yet, with a little persuasion, maybe he could be convinced to adopt the dog.