[oh please god no. A look of preemptive mortification freezes his face, eyes slightly wide and mouth caught halfway between a smile and frown. He holds his free hand up helplessly in surrender.]

If this is about the glitter on the floor, I'm really sorry, but can you threaten me with something that won't make me shrivel into a husk?

[He vaguely remembers some incident with singing fish, but—he pauses and blinks.]

Wait, what do you mean the dogs sing?