77

She wasn't the same dog, but she was a good dog. In some ways, she was a better dog, but, again, not the same. Finn still expected her dog to bound to the door. She still had trouble calling the new dog by her name and not by his name. She had trouble thinking of her as "her" and not "him".

But the new dog wagged and wagged her non-existent tail. She whined with joy. She came when you called. She leaned on your legs. She would let herself be pet and pet and pet until she fell over. She was a good dog. Finn missed her dog, but she loved this dog, too.

76

I sat backwards, facing the domed hatchback window, looking at the driver behind us look at me. I was knees to chin sitting where the television would go on the new-to-us entertainment center that only just fit inside my Plymouth Horizon. The man and woman in the Volvo behind us smiled, so I waved and they laughed. As I hugged by shins and tried not to get carsick, I continued to wonder, as I had for days, if buying more furniture with someone I wasn't completely sold on was a good idea.

75

To counteract her innate adorableness, Gwen made it a point to threaten to punch everyone she met. "I'm going to punch you in the face," she'd spit. "I was about to punch him in the nuts," she'd brag. "I swear to god I'm going to punch the hell out of you," she'd hiss through gritted teeth. Despite this, most people still thought she was "cute," until she actually punched them, that is.