The Coincidence of Knowing Kilo

Kilo - RIP 1998-2010

 

I met Kilo about 3 years ago, actually I met Kilo's mom before I met Kilo.
I was walking my dog in the neighborhood when this woman came across the street towards me announcing "I have a dog just a like yours Girl or Boy?." We shared dog stories, my current one being that I needed a place that hadn't been sprayed with pesticides so that my dog could go to the bathroom. Every spring some bug-be-gone company comes to the complex and treats the grounds with chemicals that are harmful to pets and children. I point out the yellow Keep Off The Grass signs to M while we walk and talk. Every year the person who does the spraying - puts up fewer and fewer warning signs - you've got to be alert to know where they are.

She tells me my dog is friendlier than hers, I tell her mine used to be hyper, I'm the Bean's second person. She tells me that she's had Kilo since he was 6 months. We part ways at the narrow dirt path that leads to the convenience store, both of us smiling with the delight of having met each other because of our dogs. I cross the street to get to untainted grass.

I met Kilo some weeks later, though I didn't know this was the same dog as he was with an older gentleman. We would pass on our walks - Kilo and his man person, the Bean and me, however our dogs weren't really friendly, so the man and I just said "hi" to each other or nodded and kept on walking. One day I had my little Canon Sure shot with me when I took the picture linked to this piece.I thought his dog was adorable.

The couple and Kilo moved into the building where I live last fall. That's when I put all of the three faces together and realized that I had heard about Kilo before I'd met him.

Kilo passed away on May 29, 2010 6:00 am - the same day as his dad's birthday. His dad works the graveyard shift, get's off at 6:30 a.m. takes the bus home.

It feels sudden to me because just two days earlier I was jogging down the sidewalk when Ki ran after me barking. I paused mid stride and turned to look at him, he stopped, cocked his little head to the side, and stared back at me.

That's my last memory of Ki, his dad picking him up and saying, "he'll run after everything." We laughed, went home.

M. tells me their last memories of K, beyond what I'd already witnessed: T carrying the open box to the car, his companion rigid inside.I listen to her story, and picture the long painful ride to the animal shelter,them paying the bill for the disposition of Ki's remains.That was the day that the construction crew spent the day working on the exterior of the building, replacing on the wood soffits with metal. The sound of sawing and hammering permeated the air until after 7 that evening. This was not a peaceful departure.

M. tells me about how T keeps things inside. I can tell T's a stoic like that, and I know from what I've seen of him and Ki that his memories run deep. Turns out that this photo may be the only one available to them, which I will print out, frame and give them later today.

As I write this I am struck by how a simple conversation about dogs, evolved into my preserving a memory for folks who were strangers-then neighbors and now by this connection friends.