I lace up my shoes, dreading what comes next. I know she is watching me, wondering what I’m going to do. And as much as I hate it, I know that it must be done. I hear a small whimper, and my heart breaks. “I’m sorry, but you know I have to go.” She is silent, but I can feel her anxiety from across the room. I glance over, but I avoid looking into her brown eyes, because I know that it will make it harder to leave. She is shaking, and I hear another whimper. I stand up and reach for my keys. Her crying is louder now, and I have to force myself to put on my jacket. Why does she have to make this so difficult? Hearing her cry is weakening my resolve, but I know that I need to do this. I head towards the door, but as I reach for the doorknob, I pause and glance back at her. When I look into her sad, brown eyes, I realize that I can’t do it. I can’t leave her. “Alright, you can come with me,” I say, as I reach for her leash, which is hanging by the door. She is instantly a new dog, furiously wagging her tail and prancing around the room, her sadness replaced with excitement. Kneeling down, I clip her leash onto her collar. As I do, she jumps up to lick my face. I laugh at her, saying, “Silly dog. I was just going to the grocery store. You know I’m a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes though, huh?” I give her a quick scratch behind the ear, and we head out the door. Together.