It was incredibly cliche, actually.

My ex-husband talked me into a third puppy on the argument that it wasn't too much for two people. Then he up and left me a couple of months after. I was completely blindsided, so I didn't argue hard enough when he took Duncan that night. I held up the divorce for several months in a "custody battle" - he already had possession so I wasn't going to get Duncan back, but I loved my dog and wanted to be able to have him when my ex was out of town and such. (Apparently Phill fought it because he was convinced it was some sort of weird stalking technique or something? He gave up immediately after I laughed in his face at the suggestion.)

During all of this, knowing that I would never have Duncan back for real, I caved in the face of the funny looking dog that looked so sad at one of those Saturday PetSmart pet adoptions. I had already had three dogs before, I figured, so I'd be fine. (Those things are dangerous.)

Then one day Phill asked me to take Duncan for a week or so while he recovered from minor surgery. That turned into two weeks because he was still sore, and then three weeks, and then the entire month, and eventually he offered him to me permanently. I certainly wasn't going to say anything but an enthusiastic yes. But I ask you, what did we fight over him for all those months for?