Meet Ruthie and William: the den’s resident odd couple, canine comedians, and daily inspiration.

Some writers have muses.

I have something better: Ruth Bader Ginsberg Girard and William Shakespeare Girard. They’re my den-mates, comic relief, and daily reminder that character really is destiny.

Ruthie weighs six pounds and carries herself like a Supreme Court justice with a dissenting opinion on nearly everything. She’s the undisputed boss of the den, issuing tiny barks that make even the squirrels pause. Her hobbies include taking over the largest dog bed and giving William pointed looks when he’s blocking her sunbeam.

William is, by any measure, a giant. He’s over a hundred pounds of harlequin Great Dane, but don’t tell him that. In his mind, he’s a lapdog, a poet, a puppy in need of reassurance. William sits in armchairs like he’s about to compose a sonnet, and if you move too quickly, he’ll look at you with wounded dignity. As if you’ve interrupted some deep creative process.

Together, they are living proof that opposites not only attract, but thrive. Ruthie struts through life certain she could run the household (and probably the Supreme Court, if offered). William defers to her in all things, even surrendering the best seat in the house if Ruthie so much as glances his way.

Their favorite activity? Supervising me as I write. Ruthie opts for luxury—perched on her faux-fur throne, radiating authority. William claims a chair barely big enough for one of his paws, eyes soulful, waiting for inspiration (or snacks).

Maybe this is what all writers need: a tiny, bossy muse and a gentle giant who thinks he’s a lapdog. One to remind us to take up space and never back down. The other to keep things soft and remind us not to take ourselves too seriously.

Life in the den is rarely quiet, never dull, and always a little ridiculous.

Just the way I like it.