So my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend (at some point in the past future) kicked off his shoes without a fuss and headed straight to where Bwana was napping. ( In case you don't know, Bwana is my dog, a gorgeous husky who I love as if she were mine.) He set the bouquet of flowers on the floor in front of her nose and said, "I think the gray ages you," but Bwana didn't even open an eye—she was still in the depths of her after-lunch boa digestion.

Then he cuddled her, and I went out to the garden to plant some turnips. Not that I like them, but Bwana likes digging them up when she's in a funk. Her rule of thumb seems to be "If you can climb a flight of stairs, you can dig a turnip." She's really soulful and flinty, though my boyfriend is dead set on leaving yellow sticky notes all around the house saying, "Trust me, dogs have no souls." But I cross them all out and write underneath, “Neither do you.” Deep down, he's a good guy, at least when he’s sleeping, but you never know when he's up to his old tricks. Never trust anyone who folds his pizza into four—such is life.

When I finally managed to get out of the backyard quicksand, I entered the house to find my dog and my boyfriend playing chess. He had just castled his king, and she was in the middle of a queen's gambit. Chess pieces were scattered all over the floor as they both frantically beat the clock, completely absorbed in the relentless rhythm of the game.

I climbed the stairs on all fours and saw my husband with his hair undone, practicing Beethoven's Fifth Symphony on his violin. He stopped playing and said to me, "Don't forget what's pretend and what's real" to which I replied, "Well, the impossible just became possible!"

"Godspeed, honey," he replied.

*Pictures by ¡StockPhoto.com