junglist
Tourist
Both. Any time I dropped my pants, he was right there, he was a mastiff, where else would he be? If I was on the bed or doing something and he felt horny, he would look at me, look at he drawer where I kept my love making jeans, back at me, then the drawer. if I didn't respond he'd give me a booming "HEY!" bark, look at the drawer, then me. And people say dogs can't talk. Pretty fucking obvious to me.