Men at Arms (Discworld 15)

Angua stopped so suddenly that Gaspode ran into her.

'You mean Corporal Carrot? He's not my young man!'

'Yeah? I'm a dog, right? It's all in the nose, right? Smell can't lie. Pheremonies. It's the ole sexual alchemy stuff.'

'I've only known him a couple of nights!'

'Aha!'

'What do you mean, aha?'

'Nothing, nothing. Nothing wrong with it, anyway—'

'There isn't any it to be wrong!'

'Right, right. Not that it would be,' said Gaspode, adding hurriedly, 'even if there was. Everyone likes Corporal Carrot.'

'They do, don't they,' said Angua, her hackles settling down. 'He's very . . . likeable.'

'Even Big Fido only bit his hand when Carrot tried to pat him.'

'Who's Big Fido?'

'Chief Barker of the Dog Guild.'

'Dogs have got a Guild? Dogs? Pull one of the other ones, it's got bells on—'

'No, straight up. Scavenging rights, sunbathing spots, night-time barking duty, breeding rights, howling rotas . . . the whole bone of rubber.'

'Dog Guild,' snarled Angua sarcastically. 'Oh, yeah.'

'Chase a rat up a pipe in the wrong street and call me a liar. 'S'good job for you I'm around, else you could get into big trouble. There's big trouble for a dog in this town who ain't a Guild member. It's lucky for you,' said Gaspode, 'that you met me.'

'I suppose you're a big ma—dog in the Guild, yes?'

'Ain't a member,' said Gaspode smugly.

'How come you survive, then?'

'I can think on my paws, me. Anyway, Big Fido leaves me alone. I got the Power.'

'What power?'

'Never you mind. Big Fido . . . he's a friend o' mine.'

'Biting a man's arm for patting you doesn't sound very friendly.'

'Yeah? Last man who tried to pat Big Fido, they only ever found his belt buckle.'

'Yes?'

'And that was in a tree.'

'Where are we?'

'Not even a tree near here. What?'

Gaspode sniffed the air. His nose could read the city in a way reminiscent of Captain Vimes' educated soles.