"Jolie ran joyously out to the truck, wagging her tail and grinning, as he.........(insert your words)" realized he was an ambiguous pronoun referrence. The essence of his being creaked like the foundation of a long abandoned house pulled in opposite directions by strong wills wrought from a springtime nor'ester and sifted through a tidal wave.
Was he evil? Was he a saint? Was he good? Was he bad? Was he a smart man with a soul? Was he a cajun with a dog?
But, none mattered. He could feel the old clinging craving knawing through his periphery, knawing, viciously drawing, seeking, dividing, knawing. That time-weathered voice--a screeching mattress spring in the throat of his departed grandmother's throat--seeping around into front and center, commanding, asking, compelling, condescending, overpowering, saying. . .