With my chance to make up with Daisy lost, I retreated to my apartment to (sulk) collect myself and (complain) talk over my options with Petunia. The pug, naturally, had very little to say, head tilting comically from side to side as my impassioned pleas for assistance fell on doggy ears either too sensitive to comprehend my patheticness or brilliant to tell me I already knew what I should be doing about Daisy, about Crew, about everything. Starting with dropping the poor Fiona ...