[An odd smile comes across Blake's face as he watches his dog twirl around. The strange quality to it is, on close examination, 'sincerity.']

She's something else, isn't she? She's a damn good dog.

[He swirls the champagne in his glass around and watches the bubbles rise.]

Maybe I would be. Back home I didn't have time to take care of a pet.

[He glances at Heather and cracks a smile.] Or talk to any teenagers except to tell them to quit trying to use fake IDs to buy cigarettes.