Fairspell Meadow loyalty loyalty loyalty

Gucci was lovin' this conversation and company so far. Back in Santa Barbara, it was Martin's job to take him to the dog park to interact with his kind, but the chihuahua had to admit the man wasn't too good as it. He'd always somehow end up distracted, end up going somewhere else or talking to someone for a while, the tiny dog in his carrier all along... seemingly forgotten? 

Real silly man, that Martin Friedman.

But this, right now, was just great. 

The dog nodded knowingly when the white male gave his name and lineage. It was a good name, he had to admit, although he wondered if his owners were referencing something with it. "He Who Walks the Valley" could be a song lyric, for all he knew. One of his sons was registered as "Guichon-Brislin's Shape Of You", after all. 

"That's jus a grand name, sah, ah rarely hear ones so sound. Ah don't doubt titles would jest enhance it. Mine's Georgia Honeys Veni Vidi Gucci, but mah owners call me Gucci." The tri-colour said that with a dip of his head.

"Oh no, no, ahm a former show dog." This was still pronounced as "fomah". "N mah specialty wasn't tricks, although ah was taught a few, but ah doubt they'd be int-ras-ting to fellow canine. Jest stuff like "play dead" or "stand", things ahm supposed to do on command. Ah was considered a champion o' obedience in mah day." He poofed out his little chest in pride.