There’s life after divorce, Sarah,’ my father proclaimed, not that he’d ever been divorced.

Maybe part of find what you wanted was recognizing what you didn't want. Maybe there was hope for me yet.

When my cell phone rang, I'd just finished cutting up my marriage mattress.

I pulled my suitcase out of the backseat of my bug, along with Cannoli's new travel case, a spiffy animal print pet backpack on wheels. When I first saw it, I thought maybe the dog was supposed to wear the backpack, but it turned out the person wore the backpack with the dog in it.

There also wasn't one single bit of grass or dirt outside the airport. Even the median strip was a concrete sidewalk. Where did Atlanta's pet travelers pee? Maybe city dogs just learned to use the sidewalk. We kept walking. It looked like if we crossed the road that all the cars used to get onto the highway, we might come to a planted-up area, but we also might get killed.
Finally, I just lifted Cannoli up and plopped her down on a great big ashtray built into the top of the trash barrel. "Good thing you're not a German shepherd," I said.

I confronted the fact that I was not only talking to a dog, but answering for one.