"He feels neglected."

"Shawn…"

"Just look at him. Look into his eyes—he's trying to tell you how he feels."

"Shawn."

"You need to let him in. You need to let him know it's okay."

"SHAWN."

He looked up from where he was lying on the floor, his eyes wide with innocence and surprise. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

He, Indiana the dog, Trevor the gray cat, and Genevieve the calico were all on the floor of the living room. Indiana lay with his chin on his paws, looking dejected. Genevieve was standing, glaring at him. Trevor was sitting with his tail wrapped around his legs—every so often, the tip of his tail would twitch one way or the other as he watched both Shawn and the dog.

Shawn sighed, sitting up. "Indiana feels rejected," he said simply. "I'm trying to get Treader and…and Mademoiselle Cat over there—"

"Trevor and Genevieve."

"Aha! I knew it was something French! Anyway, I'm just trying to get them to accept Indiana for who he is!"

"And exactly who is Indiana?" she asked, one eyebrow quirked. (The expression on her face was so familiar to him…) "Let me guess: there's so much more to him then just fuzzy, dirty, ragged brown fur."

"So much more!" Shawn exclaimed happily. "He's really an explorer at heart, he loves the ladies, he's got the manners of a gentleman, and he always seems to get in trouble with the Nazis."

Juliet stared at him for a moment. "Are we talking about Harrison Ford's character, or the dog?"

"Good ol' Harry copied Indiana." He pounded his fist into his knee, looking sincerely disappointed. "If only we could have gotten his character trademarked in time—"

"Oh, for God's sake!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. "Shawn, why can't you ever take anything seriously?"

"I am taking this seriously!" he responded, standing.

(He had always been taller than her, she thought.)

"Your cats are shunning my dog!"

"Maybe your dog is defective!"

"Indiana Jones is not defective! He's a purebred!"

"A purebred what? A purebred mutt?"

"Exactly! You can totally see it, right? It's in the build of the legs I think. And the shape of the tail."

"Shawn, you're insane! Cats don't like dogs! Why did you even bring him home in the first place?"

"Because…" He opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the words to say—or the alibi to create. Juliet folded her arms across her chest, watching him squirm. He was not pulling anything ridiculous on her; there had better be a good reason.

He let out all his breath in an exasperated sigh, flinging his arms about. "Because my dad was going to put him in the shelter," he said finally, turning and going to the window. Juliet frowned.

"So? He could have found a good home!"

Shawn said nothing. He didn't look at her.

Realization slowly dawned.

"You wanted to spite him. That's it, isn't it? You wanted to turn this mutt into the perfect dog so that you could succeed where your dad couldn't."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking awkward. "Yeah…that sums it up pretty nicely, I think."

"Shawn…"

She wasn't even sure what to say. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he and his father just agree on something? Why couldn't they get along? It seemed like everything Shawn did, he did to spite his father or to prove his father wrong.

"All right, look," he began. "I've always wanted a dog. Dad never let me get one. So one day, I go over there to borrow some stuff, and he's got Indiana—except he called him Rufus, which is the most demeaning name for a dog I can possibly think of besides Rover. Then I ask about him, and he says he's going to give the dog away to a shelter because he couldn't handle him. But I wanted him."

He turned back to Juliet, who was still standing in the exact same place, looking at him with a sort of pitying gaze. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he reached up to rub the back of his neck again. "Jules, I could probably find a good home for him if you really want me to," he said quietly. "I don't want to mess this up. This—with you. I'll get rid of him."

She watched him for a moment, then looked away.

He was willing to get rid of the mutt…the dog he had always wanted…for her. It was so unlike him. She had expected him to put up more of a fight to keep the animal; after all, it seemed so precious to him. But there he was, standing in the light of the window, waiting for her to issue a verdict.

Damn.

Her gaze shifted as she thought—then she noticed something.

"Shawn," she whispered, sidestepping so that she could be closer to him and pointing to the floor. "Look."

There was Genevieve, curled up beside Indiana. Trevor lay on the dog's nose. The big brown mutt looked up at them both, and Juliet could have sworn that he was smiling.

"Well," Shawn said, folding his arms. "At least now that cat has another face to sleep on."