Fraser pauses briefly at the door of the assigned address, turning to see where Diefenbaker is. All things considered, he thinks, it was probably a good thing he was already dressed this morning. Although he now utterly lacks anything other than what he's wearing at present-- his customary and extremely distinctive red serge.
Diefenbaker is, apparently, half a block behind him, nosing at something on the ground.
"Diefenbaker!" he calls, despite knowing full well the wolf is utterly stone deaf. He frowns as he moves back towards him a few paces, to make out the object of the animal's attention: a chocolate bar wrapper. Then, he sighs briefly. "Oh, Diefenbaker."
The wolf looks up at him finally. "Rrrrf," he replies. Fraser shakes his head disparagingly, then looks at him and enunciates slowly. "Come. On."
Diefenbaker makes a subvocal noise of reluctance, but pads towards him.
Fraser hasn't even really begun to try and make sense of what's going on right now. There isn't a modicum of sense about it to begin with. Which, really, should be par for the course for him. But this is utterly beyond the pale. He's profoundly in the dark, and if it's one thing Fraser can't stand, it's not knowing what's going on in a way that's logical.
First things first: Meet with the Inspector. His superior officer. At least, she was until about two hours ago. Now, he's not sure what he is, much less what comes next.
He raps on the door, and assumes his traditional stance; weight evenly distributed on both booted feet, hands clasped behind his back.