Always with Dogs

Always with Dogs

by Tokuhiko Kise

For as long as I can remember, there was a mixed-breed dog named Rock in our home. He died when I was in my first year of junior high, and a week later I brought home a puppy. I named him Genta. Of course, I didn’t have a driver’s license yet. When I went to Mt. Shigi, I’d tuck him into a big bag, act like nothing was unusual, and ride the train. Once we reached the station, I’d pull him out and we’d dash through the ticket gate together. After I got my motorcycle license, sometimes I’d have him stand on the front of my scooter; other times I’d put him in a big bag with his head sticking out, strapped to my back as we rode.

Genta died shortly before I started TRUCK. Not long after, a Labrador named Buddy came along. In TRUCK’s early days, Buddy was the star, the supporter, the everything. A few years later, Dingo joined us, and then her sons John and Jack were born. Buddy’s son Junior came next. And there were also eight cats. Life was loud, busy, and full of joy.

Mornings began with cleaning the big cat litter boxes. Then I’d take all five dogs for a walk by bicycle, looking like some kind of Santa Claus. There was cleaning up the indoor toilet area. Torn-up pee pads left behind by the usual culprits—knowing they shouldn’t but unable to stop. Jack would gnaw the arm of the HR Sofa and chew the leather not just like a curious cat, but as if it were actual jerky. John once jumped off the sofa, botched the landing, and broke his arm—the vet bill nearly gave me a heart attack. And of course, meals and fresh water every day, always kept clean.

It was nothing but looking after them, and they never once ran an errand for me. And yet, somehow, I’d still find myself saying:

“Thanks, buddy.”
“Really, thank you.”

I don’t know why.