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“I don’t think dogs are meant to eat pizza,” says Natasha.
“Tell that to him,” says Clint, ripping another small chunk off the crust. “Sit, dog. Good boy!”
The dog doesn’t so much eat the crust as he does inhale it.
“He’s gonna bite your fingers off,” Bucky warns Clint.
“Nah, he’s a good dog. Lay down! See, look. Got him trained already.”
“Maybe the other way ‘round, sure,” says Bucky.
“He’s going to follow you home if you keep giving him food,” says Natasha.
“Yeah, well. Simone’s got kids. Kids should have a dog.”
“Does Simone agree?” asks Bucky.
Clint makes a face at him and gives the dog another hunk of crust.
“Are you even allowed pets in your building?”
“I am a thousand percent sure that I am,” says Clint.
“Just because you own the building does not mean you can have a dog,” says Natasha.
“See, and I kinda feel like it does,” says Clint. “My building, my rules, and who says I’m keeping the dog anyway?”
Bucky and Natasha look pointedly at the dog.
Who has laid down on Clint’s foot, and is snoozing away.
“Aw, he’s sleeping,” says Clint. It almost sounds like love.
“He’s filthy,” says Bucky.
“He’s probably got fleas,” says Natasha.
“He’s gonna cost a mint in vet bills,” says Bucky.
“He’s gonna need walking every day,” says Natasha.
“He’s gonna steal your pizza,” adds Bucky.
“He’s gonna sleep in your bed,” warns Natasha.
But the dog just sighs happily, while Clint scratches him behind the ears.
“You know you guys are just describing yourselves, right?”
Bucky and Natasha narrow their eyes and glare.
Clint grins. “What can I say? We’re both lucky.”