With his head hung low, Johan moved to Crowley's side. Crowley thrust a hand outward, toward the door. Johan slinked through, shoulders hunched. "He's become far too familiar with you, in any case." Crowley turned and stepped out, door slamming in his wake.
Moments latter, he and Johan were back at Crowley's room. The dog, clearly depressed, dropped on the rug that served as his bed. "Oh get over it, you big hairball. You're a god damned hell hound. It's time you remember how to act like one." Johan huffled a breath out his nose, then flicked his tail up over his snout.
Crowley settled in his easy chair, and called a glass of whiskey to his hand. he turned the television on, to watch some gory WWII footage. Nothing like the cruelty men inflicted on each other to sooth his unsettled soul.