“So, if it isn’t the old Muffin-Licker! How you doing, Muffer, which, just in case you’re a little slow on the uptake, is short for Muffin-Licker, Muffin-Licker.”

—How much longer will I have to put up with this indignity?

“Oh, probably as long as you’re a Muffin-Licker, Muffer old boy, which could be . . . forever, since once you cross the Muffin-Licking line, you can never go back: once a Muffin-Licker, always a Muffin-Licker.”

—This could get old really fast.

“Well, I could just call you Lumpy, or Lumpster, or Lumpkins, or Lumpalooza . . .”

—Meaning you have no shame and are willing to tease a poor creature about a physical infirmity over which he has no control?

“You’re right, that’s cruel. Teasing a poor creature about something it does have control over, like its tongue, is far better.”

—It wasn’t my fault.

“Oh, so you’re finally admitting to the muffin-licking, Muffin-Licker?”

—Not exactly, but for the sake of argument, say the alleged event did in fact take place; under such circumstances, any alleged muffin-licking would definitely be your fault.

“My fault?”

—Or the muffin’s fault.

“Let me get this straight: a proud, strong, independent member of the canine species has been, allegedly, victimized by a pumpkin muffin? Muffins can’t even move of their own volition, Muffer.”

—True, but they can send out irresistible messages of tantalization. If, and I repeat, if my tongue violated the muffin-space, it was because the muffin engaged in illegal, immoral, and unconscionable entrapment schemes that should be condemned and rejected by every right-thinking mammal.

“Be that as it may, I’m still not very happy that you also try to blame me for your permission-less muffin licking.”

—I’ll withdraw that suggestion: it was absolutely the muffin’s fault.

“If you say so, Muffin-Licker, who am I to say thee nay? Particularly since the muffin is no longer around to defend itself.”

—We could question another of its kind, since there’s a large bag of those nefarious muffins on the counter . . .

“Good try, Muffin-Licker, but no dice.”

—Haven’t you forgotten something?

“What?”

—Look what time it is: you haven’t even begun writing down our daily conversations.

“Good heavens! My mind is so befogged with exhaustion and the need to finish this job application . . .”

—Good thing I’m around to provide the necessary reminders.

“Indeed, thank you.”

—So how about a biscuit as a way of compensating me for my . . .

“Wait a minute: this from someone who licked my muffin without permission?

—Um . . . was that your muffin?

“When have you ever had a muffin? Dogs don’t get muffins, unless they’re dropped accidentally.”

—As I recall, the muffin that I . . . allegedly, mind you . . . licked, that muffin was on the floor.

“It was not: it was on the coffee table, right next to the TV remote.”

—It was pretty close to the floor: I mean, if you had been standing up, it would have been closer to the floor than it was to your mouth . . .

“Your defense is weakening by the second: you licked my muffin: admit it.”

—I’d say ownership is determined mostly by possession, and as I recall, the alleged muffin, that I allegedly licked, ended up in my stomach.

“So, that’s your new plan, eh? Lick everything so that it ends up in your alleged stomach?”

—Of course not. It hasn’t been proven that I licked anything in the first place.

“Whatever: no alleged biscuit for you, in any case. And maybe no alleged food for you tomorrow, either.”

—Now, now let’s not do anything one might regret.

“One—meaning you?”

—Allegedly.