Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

I don't see very well. A lot of dogs don't. But who needs eyesight when you've got smelling and hearing?

Around here, hearing is important to know when to take cover under a bed or behind the couch. The stomping of heavy boots and the clicking of safety catches are never good signs and more often than not soon to be followed by gunfire, breaking glass and screams.

But if I had to choose I'd rather give up hearing than smelling. It's the smells that tell the true stories and I like to be in the loop.

When Chance smells of other people's blood I know he will, as soon as everybody else is gone, slump down on his couch, pour himself a drink and spend the next few hours staring off into the darkness. Then it's time for me to do my job, put my head on his knees, offer him a piece of pig ear or bring him a tennis ball so he can play a little.

Guerrero is different. He smells of other people's blood more often than not and so far I've never had to comfort him in the middle of the night. He also from time to time smells of fish food and – on very few occasions – of something a lot sweeter. Took me a while to figure out it's baby soap.

This is what I mean by true stories…

Winston's aftershave is so intense, I know he's there the second he enters through the door on the first floor. Chance's is a lot subtler, hardly more than a whiff of limes, clove and West Indian Bay tree.

Ames always chews bubblegum. The overpowering fruity scents overlie most of the delicious vanilla odors that stem from her shampoo and shower foam.

Katherine used vanilla for her cookies. And cinnamon.

Every now and then Ames takes a shower at the office. Afterwards I sometimes manage to get to her before she pops one of those awful things into her mouth. Then I bury my head in her lap, inhale deeply and remember my first human friend.

Ilsa uses perfume. A complex mixture: Among the ingredients are roses, jasmine, violets, Needle Bush, vetiver, sandalwood, patchouli oil, civet, oak moss and, most importantly, my beloved cinnamon. Unlike Winston she never takes too much of it – always just the right amount.

She has set up a meeting this morning. Ilsa is businesslike, calm, focused as usual, while Chance and the others more or less convincingly pretend to be listening. It looks like an ordinary meeting differing in nothing from the dozens she has held before.

But I can smell a hint of West Indian Bay tree on her and there's the slightest note of cinnamon on Chance's skin.

As I said - it's the smells that tell the true stories.