Saying goodbye to my Kili pup

Dear Kili,

We had so many talks. A lot with words, but most with actions. Smiles, tail wagging, acting silly, or deep sighs when we’d lie down to relax. But the last conversation was the hardest, and ended with two words. Thank you.

For the past twelve and a half years ( you almost made it to thirteen, but the pain was too much), you gave me unconditional love, made me feel like the most important, coolest, and loved girl in the world, and I hope I did the same for you. Our daily walks got me up and out in some seriously tough times, and you always gave me a purpose.

You knew when to kiss tears off my cheeks, when to cuddle with all your heart, when I needed to give you my undivided attention with a tennis ball, and showed me the glory of finding the perfect stick.

We both got annoyed with labradoodles, prefer wide open spaces, are soothed playing in the water, and loved every single blissful thing about a forest walk.

And the stories, Kili pup, ohh the stories we could tell. Should we write a book? I don’t know. You sat on my lap as we drove the PCH from Washington to LA. I swear you thought you could drive. I’d zip you in my coat as a puppy and take you everywhere with just your head popping out. We snuck you on the football field at UW, and you got as high as a kite when you ate a joint you found in a park by there, too.

So many “oh shit” moments that I look back on and laugh now. So many.

Oh, then there were the hikes and beach days. Once you’d been to a place, you never forgot the trail to get back. You’d practically climb cliffs at Half Moon Bay, disappear then and come back with a tennis ball that was hidden in a bush 200 yards away. I army crawled after you up the muddy trail/cliff hybrid with Levi in my backpack baby carrier, and you waited to make sure we were ok, then walked over to take in the view of the bay. I always said in your final days I’d take you back to that beach, and I’m so sorry that didn’t happen. Those were special outings in hard times.

You saw the world with perfect curiosity, and always learned new words. Your favorite in your last months was sardines. I don’t know if they helped your arthritis that much, but they were certainly a mood booster, and those stinkers hid all your pills. Gotcha.

You were that dog with your head out the window, smiling, squinting, and soaking up life through your nose. And your zoomies were in a class of their own. Your perfect head tilt is responsible for a few of my smile lines, too.

You knew I was pregnant before I did, and you were protective of Levi since the day you first realized he was growing inside of me. You were the most incredible big sister to him, too. Gentle, loving, and a patience that never ceased.  I loved how you’d swim at Juana’s and tow around Levi as he held onto you. Thanks for passing along all the fur, dust, allergens, and whatever else you carry, because this kiddo hardly gets sick.

You filled some of my emptiness without even trying, and were quite the icebreaker in all our moves. Thank you for all the friends you helped me meet, and the enemies…well, they just didn’t understand you. Their loss.

You were far from perfect, but were the perfect pup, friend and companion for me. I wish we had more time,  I wish your final weeks weren’t spent in so much pain, and I hope I didn’t make you endure too much, just so I didn’t have to say goodbye.

Looking back, you were the one good thing about having to leave Hawaii. I like to imagine what life would’ve been like had we never moved, but then I don’t want to know what this last quarter of my life would’ve been without you.

I could write so much more. You were so darn smart, sassy, a quick learner, and a speedy destroyer of all squeaky toys. And an even speedier pizza thief.

But gosh, this hurt is so deep, and there’s so much I wish I could’ve done, and so much guilt and heartbreak. I hope you know I always was learning, doing my best, and protecting you, too. And I am so so thankful for your incredible life and getting to be the one to experience it with you.

I hope you found some amazing forest trails in heaven, hopefully that lead to a river filled with sticks to chase, fish to watch, and a nice open field to take a sun bath. I’m down here missing you and am still looking for your smiling face when I walk through the door, and reaching for you when I fall asleep. I said goodbye when I left today, too. It’s a habit that will be hard to forget.

I know eventually the things that remind me of you will stop making me cry and will make me smile instead, but just know you were so loved, so deeply. And I am so heavy-hearted without you.

Thanks for being my best four-legged friend.

Love, your sad hooman who wants to play fetch one more time, and needs you to come kiss the tears off her cheeks.

Kili Steen. 

2013 – 2026

Cheers to an adventurous cuddle – and fetch-filled life in Colorado, Washington, California, Minnesota, Florida, Washington (again) and Florida (again), and for being an important part of our family through it all.