She can't help noticing the grin isn't what it normally might be, though she pauses to spare a wave at Sweet Melissa. She has as much a soft spot for real dogs as she does for the ones she lives with. More concern for the ones she lives with, though. Zhenya doesn't frown, she keeps up the bright smile.
She takes the Old Crow from him, settling on the bench. She lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a drink, then holds it back outt o him. "You know," she says, "I'll like anything you bring me." She's making a concerted effort, speaking a little slower, so that her accent might come through not quite as thick as usual. Still, it doesn't help much.
After she speaks, she looks down at what he's carving, a horse shoe. For luck; her first husband had one above the back patio. She points at it, saying, "We should find a real one to put over your door. For luck."
She looks up at him again and says, "Something heavy's sitting on you tonight, Rodeo. Do you want to talk, or do you want to drink?"