Sirius has been, in fact, watching all of this with mild interest for quite some time. He'd stopped in the shade of a nearby tree to light a cigarette and had his attention snagged by the polite frustration on display. As grateful as he is for this new home of his, he'd learned quickly that he needed to find his entertainment wherever he could; this, by village standards, certainly qualified.

He finishes the cigarette just in time to witness the grand finale, and after scraping the butt out on his boot heel, saunters over to lean his forearms against the paddock rail. He makes a kissy-face at the zalpaca, who obliges him by stepping over to swipe once at his face with its long tongue before trotting imperiously off, probably on account of his tasting like nicotine.

"You need strawberries, mate," he advises with an arch of dark eyebrows.