“Not doing well? What happened?” Lizzie asked. “Is she sick? Is it catching? Maybe I shouldn’t bring Oscar in.”

Anjali shook her head and opened the door wider. “No, it’s okay. Please come in. I think Ginger would like to see Oscar.” She waved Lizzie into the living room. Ginger was curled up on the rug, next to a low couch that was covered in a brightly colored cloth. When Lizzie and Oscar went into the room, Ginger struggled to her feet and, panting, came over to touch noses with Oscar. Lizzie watched closely in case Oscar growled, but all he did was sniff Ginger and wag his tail. Ginger wagged her tail, too.

“Sit down, please,” Anjali said to Lizzie. She pulled a tissue from a box and blew her nose. “Aww, that’s so sweet,” she said, pointing to Oscar.

Oscar was licking the side of Ginger’s face, kissing her sweetly and gently.

“It’s as if he knows,” said Anjali. She sniffled and blew her nose again.

“Knows what?” Lizzie thought Ginger looked okay. Sure, maybe she was moving even more slowly than usual, but other than that she seemed fine.

Anjali sighed. “Last night, Ginger didn’t want any dinner. And this morning, I could barely even get her to drink some water. She doesn’t want to go outside, but she can’t seem to settle down inside, either. She just paces around the house, panting. Then she flops down for a few moments. Then she gets up again. I called the vet, and we went to see her this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Lizzie. “You go to Dr. Gibson, right? I’m sure she can help.”

Anjali shook her head. “Not this time,” she said. “Ginger is fifteen years old, you know. She’s had a good life, but she has been slowing down for a long time. Dr. Gibson thinks she’s —” Anjali broke down again, burying her face in her hands.

“Ohhh,” said Lizzie. Suddenly, she understood. She put her hand on Anjali’s back. “You mean —”

Anjali nodded as she blew her nose one more time. “What Ginger has isn’t catching. It’s just old age, and she’s probably in her last days now. Dr. Gibson said all we can do is make sure she is comfortable and not in pain.”

Lizzie nodded. “How can I help?” she asked. “You probably don’t need me to walk her anymore, since she doesn’t even want to go out.”

“No, you’re right,” said Anjali. “I can take care of that. But I would love it if you could be here when I’m out teaching my classes. I don’t think I should bring her with me to the yoga studio anymore, but I don’t want to leave her alone any more than I have to. And look.” She pointed at the dogs. “I think Oscar really helps her relax and calm down.”

Sure enough, Ginger lay quietly on the rug now, snoring gently, while Oscar lay next to her, occasionally putting out a paw as if to comfort the older dog.

“Just tell me your schedule,” said Lizzie. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thanks,” said Anjali. She reached over and picked up a scrapbook from the coffee table. “Want to see what Ginger looked like when she was a puppy? I was just about your age when my dad brought her home one summer day. Look!”

Lizzie leaned over to see the picture Anjali was pointing to. “Oh, cute!” she said. A little girl with blond braids and a wide grin stood under a tree, holding a tiny brown-and-black puppy whose ears looked three times too big.

Anjali smiled down at the picture. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, so Ginger became my best friend in the world.” She touched the picture. “I told her all my secrets, and she went everywhere I went. Well, maybe not to school. Except one day when she followed me there and Mrs. Dempsey let her stay in our classroom until my mom came to pick her up….”

*  *  *

Lizzie heard a lot of stories about Ginger that week. Every day, after school and in the evenings, Lizzie and Oscar spent as much time as they could at Anjali’s house. Maria understood. She told Lizzie not to worry, that she’d make sure their clients’ dogs got walked. Lizzie’s family understood, too — even though Charles did make Lizzie call him a different name each day, in exchange for taking over some of her chores.

*  *  *

Some days at Anjali’s it was just Lizzie and Oscar sitting quietly with Ginger. Sometimes Anjali was there and they sat on the couch together, looking at pictures. Anjali told Lizzie about how Ginger had helped her survive middle school. She showed her pictures from her senior prom night in high school: a boy and a girl all dressed up in formal clothes, with Ginger sitting between them on a porch swing. And she told Lizzie how hard it had been to leave Ginger when she went off to college, and how wonderful it was to see her again whenever she went home for vacations. “And now we live together again, and it’s been so great having my best friend with me,” Anjali said, looking fondly at Ginger.

Ginger and Oscar seemed like best friends, too. From the moment he entered the house, Oscar paid attention to nobody and nothing but Ginger. He was by her side every second, lying curled up next to her and gazing at her with his wise eyes. Lizzie couldn’t believe how patient and gentle he was with the older dog. She knew now that she would be able to find Oscar a wonderful forever home — somewhere. He had proved that he could get along with at least one dog, so maybe he didn’t have to be the only dog in a family after all.

Each day, Ginger seemed to fade a little bit. She wasn’t eating or drinking at all anymore, and by Thursday she barely even lifted her head when Lizzie and Oscar arrived.

On Friday, when Lizzie got home from school, her mom met her at the door. Before she even said a word, Lizzie knew. Just by looking at her mother’s sad face, she knew that Anjali had called to say that Ginger had died. Mom pulled Lizzie into her arms. “I’m sorry, honey. I know how hard this is.”

Lizzie sobbed into her mother’s chest. She wasn’t even sure who she was crying for. Ginger? Anjali? The little girl in that picture, so happy with her puppy? And what about Oscar? He was going to miss his friend. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair at all. Why, oh why, couldn’t dogs live as long as people did?