He acknowledged to himself—and to Lucy just before she took the last of her belongings—that their split was his rightful comeuppance. He deserved to be on the other side of this type of breakup, just once. It was a valuable life experience, he’d rationalized.

After Lucy, Rob slept with a few women, mostly friends of friends, but more recently he’d refrained from the process of sexual courtship altogether. He’d gone without intercourse for months, the longest gap since he lost his virginity. The lull was because of Liz, not that he blamed her.

Shortly after Lucy packed up the last of her wardrobe and returned the key, Rob, on a whim, rescued a mutt from a local shelter. He didn’t know why he’d done it. He’d never owned a pet.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. He was driving home from the grocery store and passed the same animal shelter he drove by at least twice a day on his way to and from the university. Inexplicably he made a U-turn and pulled his car into the shelter’s driveway.

He left two hours later with a mutt that was part golden retriever and part something else, maybe German shepherd. He named her Liz after Liz Phair because one of her songs was playing on the local college radio station as he drove home from the shelter.

Liz, the dog, was already five years old when Rob first met her. There were younger, cuter dogs, but Liz’s sad eyes drew him in. He was Charlie Brown and she was the tiny, wilting Christmas tree. Rob figured that if he didn’t take Liz home, she’d probably be put down.

Liz’s first incident occurred about a month after Rob adopted her. The dog got up from her favorite lounging spot in Rob’s tiny living room and suddenly took off, as if she were on a greyhound track. She ran straight into the television set, which tipped over, making a thud so loud Rob worried it would fall through the floor. The wooden table on which the television had been perched, another haphazardly constructed IKEA item that was missing two of four necessary screws, fell to pieces seconds later.

Seemingly unaware of the damage she’d just caused, Liz began stepping backward, almost moonwalking, until her tail beat against the back wall. Then she fell on her side, moaning and twitching. Her eyes bulged, glassy and full of fear.

Petrified, Rob sprung off the couch and attempted to pin down Liz’s legs.

“Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” Rob repeated to the dog. He assumed she was dying.

But after about a minute and a half, Liz relaxed and blinked. She looked spent and confused, as did her owner. Slowly she used her hind legs to prop herself up. She leaned into Rob for support to help her get on all fours.

Rob lifted Liz and walked to the couch. He stroked her hair and kissed the back of her ears.

“It’s going to be okay, babe,” he said without conviction, his voice trembling.