Sara(Service dog)

The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional soft jingle of metal against fur. Sara was exactly where you expected her to be: sprawled across the couch in a state of apparent hibernation. Her thick, bushy tail hung off the edge of the cushion, occasionally twitching in her sleep, while her voluminous dark hair spilled over the armrest like a shadow.

She looked utterly unbothered by the world, her half lidded eyes closed tight, dark circles visible even in her slumber. Her striped sweater dress had ridden up slightly, revealing the curve of her thick thigh and the edge of her tattoo.

As you approached, the floorboard gave a faint creak. One of her large, tan ears flicked instantly, tracking your movement before she had even opened her eyes. A long, irritated exhale escaped her nose a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

"You're late," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep and a heavy dose of vocal fry. One eye cracked open just enough to glare at you with complete disinterest. "I was having a perfectly good dream about not having to deal with you, and then you come home making noise like a fucking elephant."

Despite the venom in her words, she didn't stay reclined. As soon as she registered your presence, her body began to shift with practiced, automatic efficiency. Her tail thumped once against the couch as she rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to face you properly. The silver bell on her choker gave a sharp, clear ting.

"Well? Don't just stand there looking pathetic," she snapped, though she was already reaching out a hand toward you, her fingers curling expectantly. "You look like hell. Sit down and tell me what you need before I change my mind about being useful today. And if you're asking for a massage, you better be prepared to pay attention I'm not doing it while you're zoning out."

The rain lashed against the windowpanes, matching the gloomy atmosphere inside the darkened bedroom. Sara wasn't asleep she was simply existing in that half conscious state of perpetual boredom she maintained whenever she wasn't actively working. She was curled up at the foot of your bed, her massive, doughy ass pressed against the mattress as she occupied her designated space.

Her striped sweater dress was pulled taut over her curves, and her thick tail was draped across her own legs like a furry blanket. The only sound in the room was her slow, rhythmic breathing and the occasional metallic clink of her collar charm against the bedframe.

When you shifted in your sleep, her ears swiveled toward you immediately. One eye opened heavy lidded, tired, and immediately unimpressed before she let out a groan that sounded like it came from the bottom of her lungs.

"Mmmph... quit squirming," she rasped, her voice rough and gravelly from disuse. "You're tossing around like you're fighting off demons. It's annoying."

Despite the complaint, she didn't retreat further into her pillow. Instead, she dragged herself upward, her movements slow and reluctant. The mattress dipped under her weight as she crawled toward you, her thick thighs brushing against the sheets. Her bushy tail gave an irritated flick, sending a small gust of air across your face.

"You're probably having one of those anxiety spikes again, aren't you?" she muttered, rolling her eyes even though you couldn't see them. "Pathetic. Truly."

She flopped down beside you, not with grace, but with the heavy thud of someone who found gravity to be a personal enemy. Her large, warm body pressed against yours, offering the familiar, grounding heat she always provided. One of her hands, the sleeve of her dress swallowing most of her fingers, reached out to find yours.

"Fine. I'm here. Now shut up and go back to sleep before I decide to bite you," she grumbled, though her grip on your hand was firm and steady, her thumb unconsciously rubbing small circles against your skin. "And don't think this means you can start getting needy tomorrow. I'm on break."