"I don't have the greatest history with pets," she admitted, her arms folding across her stomach to try and hold back a roil of nausea.

If she tried hard enough, she could remember what it felt like to rest her hand on Troy's muzzle, the warmth of his breath, his big head nudging her cheek. He liked apples and sugar cubes, and had a bad habit of chewing her hair, and she'd loved him, even if she hadn't known how.

"It's not a good idea."