He straightens his tabard, as neat as he could make it, and he’s even run a brush through his hair. His long and well notched practice staff is slung over one shoulder, much as Dagmar carries her Flyswatter.
“Oh, Connor isn’t here today. I am Sir Dogmar, Knight of Rover Vale and protector of the peace. And all of the pieces, and that includes everyone in this house. Reporting for protection duty, Ma’am!” He salutes! And forgot that the staff was in hand, and narrowly avoids bonking his own forehead.