Simon: Yes, dad?
Simon: it’s not a crate dad. It’s my space, my spot my place.
Ethan: I thought your place was your little bed thing.
Simon: No dad, that’s my chill cushion.
Ethan: Well, it’s that time of week again. Only us writers and super chefs are awake this late. Unless, you’re secretly harboring a raving drug addiction….or a secret Online Affair…you can talk to me Simon. Always.
Simon: What’re drugs and online?
Ethan: Let’s cook!
Simon: Wait dad. What are you making? Chicken pot pie? Is that bread gluten free?
Ethan: Oh, well, I don’t know….probably, they are really good about sending healthy stuff. I’m not even sure this chicken is even chicken, it probably died believing it was a peacock.
Simon: What’s a peacock,Is that like a squirrel?
Ethan: Well yeah, but the tail is covered with a glitter supernova….
Simon: Where’s mom. I don’t believe your tail. I mean Tale. You smell of deception.
Simon: I am a Beagle. You cannot get past me.
Ethan: ohhh yeah. I forgot about that. Your ancestry.
Simon: As still as a deer. An eagle. A wolf pack.
Ethan: Does the wolf pack want a biscuit?
Ethan: where did you learn that?
Simon: learn what?
Simon: what’re scones?
Ethan: face palms
Simon: …. I like those ….