Firestone Hot Springs baby, you're like lightning in a bottle

He introduced himself with a name she found somewhat refined, half-expecting something wild and odd-sounding. "Poppy," The sheepdog said in turn, with a little shake of her pelt. The cold was creeping through her fur, normally dissuaded by her own constant motion. Still, the pools kept her warm, for now; she wondered idly if he ought to stay here. A thought struck her, and, encouraged by the so-far positive encounter, continued to ask questions to satisfy those that had been humming through her mind. "You live in packs, yeah? do you have a pack?"  Dew would have turned up her nose at such behaviour, believing the practice of living in wild groups reserved for less than reputable dogs, thieving coyotes and murderous wolves.