It's The Andy Griffith Show

Little dove. She felt girlish again! With her shambling gait, permanently saddled ears and limp tail, it wasn't often that she felt beautiful. Sure, she got on alright, but there was always a niggling of poor self-esteem leftover from her youth. It was one of those things that was difficult to shake, it was so deeply ingrained. "Get to know each other? What would you suggest?" Rags asked, tilting her head to the side.

His pheromones excited her. She had never been intimate with a male before. Most were too afraid to ask if her condition was genetic or not, and so they kept their distance. To propagate your line was already something fraught with difficulty - she imagined it was easy to suffer from choice paralysis, especially with so many new faces at this festival. Why her, then? Rags tried to go after another fish, burying her insecurities deeper. "Where do you come from?" she asked, steering the conversation towards more rote communication. He smelled strongly of pack, but not one that she had scented upon her arrival to these lands. Did he come from far away, or was there another group that had formed? Perhaps Torin would consider this information valuable.

Attempt #5