Spike's focussed on driving off a return of the black tsunami. Looking at the dog helped, so he's doing that at the moment. Resisting the urge to glance up at the wall again.

He turns sharply at the sound of movement, straightening up a bit. He doesn't touch the bloke, but he goes on point, as it were (like the dog, hackles definitely raised now and eyes focused with that bright sharp look that dogs get when something's wrong, tail hanging stiffly), ready to move forward to steady him if he seems inclined to face plant.

"Wotcha," Spike returns the greeting, looking the human over. "Do I look as crap as you do at the moment?"