Yeah? [ He knows what Mob means (is there a word for it? Comfort dogs? Lucky people?), and there's amusement in the word, bright. This is the second time he's been compared to a kind of comfort friend. ]

Well, [ to give this some very serious consideration, not at all amused as he places his products on the counter so he can bring his bag around to open, ] you're one of those small dogs. Terriers? The kind that sit around unimposing that you don't know what's going on in their heads, but they're fun. They're just on the quiet side.

[ What a conversation for the shopowner to overhear. Double cute. Robby's bringing out foods for bartering, showing jars of preserved jam and bags of dried meat. It's a good trade for this time of year, and the owner seems pleased. Robby looks at Mob, nods at him to the shopowner. ]

He's got his stuff, too. You wanna offer something, or pay me back later?