She practically honed her claws on my door. There are little hashmarks where she pawed it. She's in no sweet mood, I'll tell you that, and now I see why.

[Anders turns the communicator toward Dog so that the reproachful canine visage occupies the entirety of the viewscreen for a few moments. He continues talking, though, in the background.]

I don't see the point of denying yourself and your dog vital training in space survival. And what's this about wanting it nowhere near me? I don't bite.