A Dog might be best. Evidently Dogs could wander pretty much where they wished. If something went wrong, Pid could change his shape to meet the occasion.
"The Supreme Council will take care of all of you," he snarled, and shaped himself into a small brown Dog. "I'm going to set up the Displacer myself."
He studied himself for a moment, bared his teeth at Ger, and loped toward the gate.
e loped for about ten feet and stopped in utter horror.
The smells rushed at him from all directions. Smells in a profusion and variety he had never dreamed existed. Smells that were harsh, sweet, sharp, heavy, mysterious, overpowering. Smells that terrified. Alien and repulsive and inescapable, the odors of Earth struck him like a blow.
He curled his lips and held his breath. He ran on for a few steps, and had to breathe again. He almost choked.
He tried to remold his Dog-nostrils to be less sensitive. It didn't work. It wouldn't, so long as he kept the Dog-shape. An attempt to modify his metabolism didn't work either.
All this in the space of two or three seconds. He was rooted in his tracks, fighting the smells, wondering what to do.