Inquisitors or not, Worf was no gentle owner. "Up," he repeated in universal, and then in a guttural rasp, "yih ghugh!" At the same time, he loosened his grasp to just around TenSoon's nape, at which point he marched what he considered the dog to the door, which opened smoothly. Presented with the hallway beyond, brighter than the lounge, Worf began towards sickbay unless the creature attempted to make a break for it.

Every time somebody stopped dead in the corridor to exclaim over the dirty dog and his impromptu, ash-smudged handler got one hell of a glaring down.