Will's eyes flick to the dogs. He remembers Florida, the sound of the water, the smell of salt water in the air. The humidity. Probably dogs. In his memory, the scent of blood and sweat mixes with the summer breeze.
It isn't a memory at all. Just a dream.
"Yeah. They're good dogs." See, this is a perfectly normal conversation. Will nudges the dogs forward, so they can go introduce themselves properly.