I contemplated leaving Mandy in the car while I got Gigi “settled,” but I realized Mandy wouldn’t stay by herself. So, sighing, I ushered them both inside the building. I quietly talked to the receptionist who sat behind the counter while Mandy cuddled Gigi.

“You want to leave us with a purebred Bichon Frise?!” the receptionist asked incredulously.

“I just…don’t think we can take care of him anymore,” I explained, feeling a guilty blush heat my cheeks. I was a terrible liar.

“Well, then I guess we should take him,” she said, still sounding uncertain.

“Here, Mandy. Give Gigi to Lauren,” I coaxed, turning to take the yapping dog from her arms.

“No,” pleaded Mandy, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want to leave Gigi behind.”

“Sweetheart, we can’t take him with us,” I reminded her.

“Please,” the little girl cried. “Gigi will think I don’t love him.”

Oh, gosh. How was I supposed to reason with a four-year-old? Mandy had been through too much already. How could I break her heart again?