[Yondu takes the oddness of the owner being a dog in stride, giving him a loose toast before taking a drink of what is probably capable of completely sterilizing his throat. He hisses in a sharp breath, after.]

I dunno. Sometimes I'm a man of distinguished tastes. But I ain't gonna look down my nose out a perfectly decent firestarter.

[He finally situates himself properly on a stool, leaning on the bartop.]

I guess you're gettin' all types in this joint.