. . .

It dissatisfies him.

The bleak emptiness that had filled Linus in his childhood starts to fray at the edges. He wants to write brooding, Gothic poetry, which he does, but he also wants somebody to read it, which the dog can’t do.

It tries.

Linus shows the dog his brooding, Gothic poetry. He explains how to sound out words like “loneliness” and “blood.” The dog barks. The dog licks his face. The dog vanishes. Later, the dog reappears, carrying a steak sandwich that it drops at his feet for him to eat.

The dog, it cannot understand.

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