Zulu's already barking at the first sign of someone approaching the door. It's a good instinct to have, and Steve's not going to train him out of it, no matter how many times Danny insists he needs to. He'd rather have a protective watchdog, and Zulu's bark is always worse than his bite. No one really knows that he'd sooner lick them to death than attack.

He glances up from where he's cutting fruit on the kitchen counter, a towel thrown over one shoulder. "Danno? That you?"