“I’ll, er, I’ll make a call to the head office,” I say. “They’ll email you to confirm.”

“Great! Oh, my God, thank you!”

She hangs up before I can sign off.

“Emergency dog run,” I tell Ming. “I need to hop on the Express back to Manhattan to walk a retriever before he destroys an entire apartment.”

“Cool.” Ming shrugs without missing a beat, flicking another shoe into the bin. “I’ll come with. This is a dead end, and it’s either that or Googling sneaker stores in Beijing, and there will be plenty of time for that in the summer.”

He truly is a good friend. We ride the train back in comfortable silence, and Ming spends the time browsing through sneakers on his phone. Trains are always slower when experienced than as mapped out by satellites on your phone. It’s looking more and more like I won’t be able to make it to debate club again. Gulp.

“What would you have done if class hadn’t gotten canceled today and you’d received that call?”

Good question.

“Skipped class probably?”

“You might be spinning a few too many plates, dude,” Ming says with some concern in his voice.

“It’s starting to feel that way.” I sigh. “But it’s only a few more months, right?” I mimic removing a graduation cap and throwing it in the air.

Ming shakes his head but says nothing. We both know I’m right.

One frozen train line and a good fifty minutes later, Ming and I finally make it to the Berjaouis’ completely trashed living room and instantly spot the acrid yellow pee stain in the corner as well as the under-the-sink trash bag that’s somehow been excavated all over the kitchen floor. The culprit is as obvious as he is adorable, two paws up at my knee and whining in happiness at another presence in the home.

“You absolute little monster,” I say, smiling.

Ming plays with Buddy with the enthusiasm of a dog person who does not have regular access to a dog of his own while I proceed to clean up the mess. I sometimes do the math in my head: if dogs age seven times as fast as humans, one hour alone amounts to more than half a day of absolute solitude. Nothing to do with yourself except build up pee, poo, and the confusion that your human is nowhere near you and might never come back and that alone might be your new status quo.

We head out of the Berjaouis’ building after a long walk with Buddy to tire him out, and I send photos of him to Mrs. Berjaoui. In return, I receive a string of grateful teary-eyed emojis. Uptown Updogs isn’t going to lose its five-star rating today, at least. Although the same can’t be said for me once Greg is done with me.