A young boy once wrote to Lewis saying that how wonderful it was that God had made

dog for us; “How do you know,” Lewis wrote back, “that God didn’t make us for dogs?”

By now he and I were less like master and dog than like two friendly visitors in the same
hotel. We met constantly, passed the time of day , and parted with much esteem to follow
our own paths. I think he had one friend of his own species, a neighboring red setter; a
very respectable, middle-aged dog. Perhaps a good influence; for our poor Tim,