My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.

Indie, our dog, was about nine months old, so that means the year was 2007. I was working impossible hours—full time in the doctoral program at Columbia, and somehow also working full time. The only time I ever spent outdoors was when I was walking Indie. He was still a puppy, and the cutest dog I had every seen. He was a tiny, scruffy little brindle coated terrier, and the name Indiana Jones suited him perfectly.

Indie got at least four or five good long walks a day. I walked him early every morning, before getting on the train to go to work. My husband or a dog walker would walk him mid-day and afternoon. Then I would walk him again when I got home from work and classes, at night.

Every night, when I walked Indie around our block (we still lived in Brooklyn back then), there were always other people walking their dogs. Often I would see many of the same people from the neighborhood and we would wave or chat about our dogs. We all knew each others’ dogs’ names — but not the owners’ names. Isn’t that funny how that happens?

Every single night Indie and I would cross paths with one man in particular. He was a little old man, with olive skin and a thick black mustache and think black rimmed glasses. If the weather was cold, he might wearing a motorcycle jacket, or a leather vest. His dog was a small, thin dog, with black fur, and a long skinny tail that waved happily. His dog was always wearing a different little outfit - a pink, sparkly puffer coat, or a knitted daffodil-yellow doggy sweater. That sort of thing. The man was always friendly, commenting on the weather, or changes in the neighborhood.

And he would always end the conversation with, “That doggy needs a jacket! He’s gonna get cold!”

And I would always reply the same way. “Thanks, but he’s already wearing a coat!” And we’d continue on our way.

I still don’t know if the little old man meant it seriously, or if it was our little joke.