“I couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so I resorted to humor, my shield of last resort. 'Just please tell me they don't have a dog and a picket fence.'He smiled. 'No fence, but a dog, two dogs.''What kind of dogs?' I asked.He smiled and glanced at me, wanting to see my reaction. 'Maltese. Their names are Peeka and Boo.''Oh, shit, Edward, you're joking me.''Donna wants the dogs included in the engagement pictures.'I stared at him, and the look on my face seemed to amuse him. He laughed. 'I'm glad you're here, Anita, because I don't know a single other person who I'd have admitted this to.”

“It's a dominance thing," Lissa chimed in. "Like dogs. He was making clear to you that he is the alpha dog." I looked at her. "I mean, you're the alpha dog," she said quickly. "But he doesn't know that yet. He's testing you.""I don't want to be the alpha dog," I grumbled. "I don't want to be a dog, period.”

“Rory's not my pet dog!' I [Amy] yelled at the Doctor.'Well, that would be better.' He was truly angry. 'Dogs I can live with.' He paused, suddenly hopeful. 'Quite sure you're not a cat person?''This isn't getting him back,' I said.He pulled a face. 'Who said I wanted him back? I was just suggesting a few alternatives. Nice little ginger tom. Have to get it neutered, of course.' He smiled winningly. 'I'd let you name him.''We'll find Rory.' I was firm. 'And then neuter him.”

“It must be because you're so approachable,' I say flatly. 'You know. Like a bed of nails.'He stares at me, and I don't look away. He isn't a dog but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It's my choice.Heat rushes into my cheeks. What will happen when this tension breaks?But he just says, 'Careful, Tris.”

“Derek caught my arm again as I started to move--at this rate, it was going to be as sore as my injured one."Dog," he said, jerking his chin toward the fenced yard. "It was inside earlier."Expecting to see a Doberman slavering at the fence, I followed his gaze to a little puff of white fur, the kind of dog women stick in their purses. It wasn't even barking, just staring at us, dancing in place."Oh, my God! It's a killer Pomeranian." I glanced up at Derek. "It's a tough call, but I think you can take him.”

“I don't think God gives a shit if we have a dog or if a woman wears shorts. I think He gives a shit whether you're a good person.”