"He's a dog," Clint observed. "The species is unnaturally forgiving." Especially Labradors, and he is not thinking about how he promised himself he'd get the kids a dog if he survived Sokovia.
"Don't knock the space vegetables. You'll hurt the cook's feelings. We don't want this to turn into the Cantina scene from A New Hope." The beer had started to loosen him up. Clint's banter came more easily, less diversion, more a natural expression of his character.
It still didn't prevent his grimace at Natasha's prodding about Cosmo's limits. "Just once, I'd like the weirdness to not include telepathy. Getting a little old, worrying about people in my brain. You think Wanda would help us figure out how far he can reach?"