Rene and Georgette Magritte, without their dog before the war

Rene slapped off the radio, shot out of bed, and ran to the studio.
His greatest idea yet! So much better than the men in bowlers, the green apples, and the hanging boulders!
He slashed at the canvas with his brush. No sky! No clouds! No background!
Tan. Just tan. Endless tan.
Rene then dabbed his brush into the various colors, shaping and shading the object of his desire.
“Fini!” he shouted. “Ceci n’est pas une foret!”
The lifelike electric drill shone proudly from the canvas.
“Rene, non foret,” said Georgette.
“Non foret?” said Rene. “Beluge? Chat?”
“Pipe,” Georgette said.