A nod and a blandly polite smile at the talk of Norah Jones, then a credulous blink to go along with "What's wrong with Michael Buble?"

But that other question, well.

"He's a service dog," Finch murmurs, eyes back on Bear, as Bear sniffs all around that pale, extended hand. "I suppose he's not really 'off' the job much, are you, Bear."

Bear rolls a doggy eye his direction and lets out a single soft bark at the sound of his name, more a whuff than a real bark. He sniffs again at Spike's hand, then settles down, pointedly, paws folded one over the other and his chin resting on them.

"He's probably a bit worked up from the wall too," Finch says, quasi-apologetically.