[Editor’s Note: Lewis learns that She With Whom He Abides has been designated a muse.]

—Aren’t I a muse?

“You?”

—Yes. Surely I can inspire you to write poems, since I already inspire you to write barks about me.

“I suppose, though right now you’d probably be a muse for hilarious slapstick poems, jokes, and the like . . .”

— . . .

“Was that a sigh? I don’t think I’ve ever heard a dog sigh before. In fact, I didn’t know dogs could sigh.”

— . . .

“Yeah, that, is that a sigh?

— . . .

“You’ve stopped talking to me haven’t you?

— . . .

“You’re insulted?”

— . . .

“Will you stop with that sighing: it’s kind of unnerving.”

— . . .

“All right, be that way: I’m sorry: I’ll try to write an extremely dignified poem about Lewis, Defender of the Realm, Powerful Protector of the Poop Yard, Fierce Enemy of Cats, Squirrels, and Birds, Indulgent Elder of the Stupid Little Dogs. What do you think of that?”

— . . .

“Please, quit sighing.”