the fine print of love

The speed in her response to my slip is brutal, "Except we don't have a dog named Kilo," she states.

No, she's right we don't.  At least we don't have one anymore. And we don't have a dog named Moses either. 

We have Ginger, aka Little Dog. A poorly timed foster dog turned into our forever dog.

And we have Juneau. 

The latter of which was who I was referring to when I accidentally said Kilo's name.  But he's not Kilo.  

For starters, Juneau's brain seems to be attached to his body.  Kilo was like a brakeless tractor-trailer on a greased slip and slide.  

Juneau ignores the boom of fireworks and the crack of gunfire.  Kilo was a hot mess if a plastics water bottle tipped over in the sink.  

The first time Kilo saw open water he swam and swam.  Juneau waded in carefully never letting his feet leave the sand. 

Kilo panicked in the canoe.  Juneau moved between the boats and the shore as if it was nothing.  Kilo was sleek and black dashed with a single brush of white war paint.  

Juneau is fire red with cresting waves of white foam.  Kilo a dirt reservation dog.  Juneau a mountain ranch hand. Kilo's expressions flat. Juneau's cartoonishly dynamic.

But one thing is the same they have the same desire to not be abandoned again.  Both dogs labeled as strays.  Both ending up at BFAS.  Kilo at Dog Town, Juneau (under the name of Groot) the Salt Lake Center. 

And both dogs became mine.

We don't have a dog named Kilo... anymore.  Kilo rests in a grave in the southeast corner of the garden.  Thinking he had been left behind he slipped the gate one morning blending with the dark and headed out to find me on the J Trail. Only, I wasn't there.

We found him down in the road. 

He died with me, lying in the back of my car. 

Juneau is not Kilo but that memory haunts my love for him.  I worry about his drive to be loved. About his neediness and just how far he will he go.  I worry about the road. This worry reminds me to not take the days together for granted. Dogs are born and grow old and die while we watch. Love is the most beautiful of liabilities. 

All dogs create purpose. Moses helped create a family and he grew old within it. Kilo rescued my heart from silence then slipped away. Ginger gentles the ground around us. And Juneau he has reopened the door.