"It's a puppy, Cougs," Jake points out, like Cougar is stupid and/or blind. "I hardly think it's got a bomb inside it."

Burying his axe in the stump with a thwack, he moves over to untie the puppy's braided leash from the bush he'd tangled it in, letting the leash fall to the ground so the puppy can bound forwards towards Cougar with all the unbridled enthusiasm Jake can completely relate to. He's that eager to run towards Cougar sometimes, too.

Best not to think about that.

"He doesn't have a name yet," he says, standing with his hands on his hips as he watches the puppy nearly tumble to a stop at Cougar's feet. "Go on, play nice."