"Oh..." Finch shrugs jerkily. "Dogs aren't... faced with existential crises or the collapse of their known reality so... I think he's doing alright. Aren't you, Bear?"

He lets Bear lick at his hands a moment, staring at the dog's rough tongue. And thinking about how this young stranger doesn't seem... so very put-out, does he? Perhaps it's a front; young men aren't generally eager to let on about fear, in Finch's experience. And Finch is also familiar with the notion of masking one's own unease by asking about the unease of others. Yet all the same...

He lifts his head, blinks at Spike with his pale eyes. "Yourself? You seem to be taking the, the ludicrousness of-- space-ship city-things-- reasonably well."