Gigi

I drove slowly back from the store, content to go below the speed limit.

Sarah Cole

I was in no hurry to get home. No one would be there waiting for me. Only a few weeks into my new life as a single woman, my studio apartment was still a maze of stacked cardboard boxes and chaos. It felt so empty. Especially now that Ginger was gone.

My dachshund had come to live with me after the divorce. Ginger had always been an anxious little thing with boundless energy. Deep down, I knew she wasn’t cut out for apartment living. But it was the first time I’d be living alone in more than a decade. I really needed the company, and I hoped that she’d adjust. But it hadn’t gone well.

Ginger barked at every little sound she heard through the walls. Her nails clicked as she ran from window to window, desperate to find intruders who weren’t there. The constant barking was too much. The neighbors complained. Just a few days after I moved in, my landlord gave me an ultimatum: Either Ginger went or we both would.

I was heartbroken. I couldn’t afford another move or to rent anything that wasn’t an apartment, and clearly Ginger was not an apartment dog. Luckily, my ex-husband agreed to take her. He lived in a fixer-upper in a quaint neighborhood with treelined streets. I knew Ginger would be happier there, with a yard to run around in, free to bark at squirrels to her heart’s content. I’d made the right choice for both of us. But I still missed her.