Their eyes howled in sorrow

I wonder if anything is more disappointed that a disappointed dog?

Typically, when my son and his family are in for the weekend, they bring their two dogs. They're good dogs. They aren't any trouble at all. But boy, do they miss their masters when they're gone.

On the last visit, I was alone downstairs with them for a bit. Charlie and his family were momentarily out, but the dogs clearly wanted them. If I went upstairs for a second then returned, I would find them sitting at the dining room entry, staring as it opened, craning their necks to look around the slowly opening door. They clearly were hopeful of someone better, and then I appeared. They let me give them treats, which I did because I felt bad for them, then slink off to their pillows or the couch to pine for the folks they actually want in their lives.

What can you say? "Sorry," I sheepishly offered. But the ones they wanted would be back soon, and then, oh joy, oh rapture. Before that, they nonetheless graciously accepted my pity treats.

Disappointed dogs

I wonder if anything is more disappointing that a disappointed dog?
My son and his family are in for the weekend, and they brought their two dogs. They're good dogs. They aren't any trouble at all. But boy, do they miss their masters when they're gone.
I'm alone downstairs with them right now. Charlie and his family are momentarily out. But the dogs clearly want them. If I go upstairs for a second then return, I find them sitting at the dining room door, staring. They clearly were hopeful of something better, and then I appear. They let me give them treats, which I do because I feel bad for them, then slink off to their pillows or the couch to pine for the folks they actually want to see.
What can you say? "Sorry, I'm not who you want." But the ones they want will be back soon, and then, oh joy, oh rapture. Until then, they will nonetheless graciously accept my pity treats.