Okay, mostly dozing. He'd been doing that a lot in the last few weeks since he'd arrived at Scotty's. He wore his old jeans and sweats, T-shirts and beat-up Kodiak boots or his tennies, and didn't have to worry if he had mud on his sleeve or if he hadn't brushed his hair that morning. It was glorious. He'd forgotten how good it felt to get a good night's sleep, to not have every inch of his life planned and organized and timed. Lady's head landed on his belly, waking him and making him "oof." She'd taken a liking to him. Lucky for her, he thought she was pretty darned cute. Kind of like her owner, though he had to admit, Scotty'd never licked his face. A shame that. The man was fine. An old quilt dropped over him, then Scotty whistled for the dogs and wandered away, tight little ass swaying. There'd been a lot of that, too. The little things that Scotty did for him to make him more comfortable, taking care of him and not making a fuss about it--like it was the most natural thing in the world.
