“Do you have a favorite?” Clifford asked.

He and Jamie were at the 14^th Street Gallery taking in the exhibition “Dog Art.”

“They’re all fun,” Jamie said. “But I thought we’d have paintings by dogs, not of dogs.”

“Yeah, misleading advertising,” Clifford agreed. “But it’s not like if you had an infinite number of dogs dabbling at an infinite number of canvasses for an infinite number of years, any of them would paint the Mona Lisa.”

“Maybe they’d do something better,” Jamie said. “Anyway, I know which one is your favorite. The one with the naked girl.”

“Woof woof,” Clifford said. “I do like it, but I don’t know it’s my favorite.”

“The one with the puppy jumping through the hoop really makes me happy,” Jamie said.

“There is littler in the world happier than a happy dog,” Clifford said.

“Hey, are you saying I’m a happy dog?” Jamie said.

“Woof woof,” Clifford said. “What about the blue dog on the sled about to crash? Does that make you happy?”

“It’s kind of exciting in a way,” Jamie said. “You wonder what’s going to happen. I think the dog will probably spring up and bound away through the snow drifts. But that blue—poor thing must be cold.”

“What about the dog chasing his tail?” Clifford asked. “Or is he chasing his butt hole?”

“Oh Clifford, I swear ... But he does have a cute butt hole.”

“You think so?” Clifford said.

“You’re supposed to say ‘Not as cute as yours.’”

Clifford woofed.

At home that evening, Jamie asked, “Why do dogs chase their tail anyway?”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it,” Clifford said.

“Is that a dare?” Jamie asked.

“Woof!”

“Whew! I give up,” Jamie said.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t actually have a tail,” Clifford said. “But if you like, you can borrow mine.”

“Woof,” Jamie woofed.