My Beloved | Kikuko Ota (Dean, Faculty of Nursing and Medical Care)

2010.03.15

Taro came to our home on Buddha's birthday. He emerged from the pitch-black cargo bed of a light truck taxi, not having made a single sound during his transport from the animal shelter. He was a male, brown Shiba Inu, said to be seven years old.

For a while, until he got used to our home, we were fumbling in the dark, trying to figure out what and how much to feed him and how to make him feel calm.

He had a mixed personality, being both affectionate and doing things at his own pace. During the day, he stayed in the yard and rarely barked, but when it got dark, he would start yelping. So, from the day he arrived, he began spending his nights in the entryway. Because he would immediately raise his head and be on alert at the slightest sign of anything, we found a few days later that playing quiet music for him at night helped him sleep well.

On the first Sunday, when we tried to go for a drive, we put him in the rear cargo space. As we were about to start the car, he suddenly became agitated and, with a desperate look, scrambled over into the front seats as if seeking help. He seemed terrified about where he was being taken, so we had to hold him tightly for a while before we could leave.

There were times we were at a loss. He would get irritated by something and try to bite a family member, and when we scolded him, he would only get more agitated, with no apparent cause. He would chew on the garden fence, escape to the neighbor's house, or run away from home and dart around after a shampoo, which he hated. We learned that he could go anywhere if there was a gap large enough for even just his head to slip through.

After four months, he had settled into a daily routine, gained weight, and calmed down. Until then, he wouldn't make eye contact; when we looked into his eyes, he seemed to be gazing at something far away. But we finally came to feel that our eyes were truly meeting.

One night, I woke up from a strange dream about panicking over guests to find Taro kicking his legs and whining loudly. He was dreaming, too. Was he chasing something, or running away? He would sometimes cry out in his sleep after that. When he seemed to be in too much distress, we would call his name. He would wake up with a start, looking bewildered, but would quickly fall back asleep.

He used to stay only in the entryway at night, but before we knew it, he was spending his time in a corner of the living room. Eventually, he began to roam freely throughout most of the house, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He seemed to have resigned himself to being left alone for long hours on weekdays. So on our days off, he would be impatient even while eating breakfast, pleading with us to take him somewhere. When he realized it wasn't going to happen, he would make a fuss for a while.

He showed little interest in other dogs. He would patiently endure being petted by people who called him quiet and cute, but he hated being held, keeping his legs stiff. Once released, he would shake his whole body and quickly return to his spot.

His thick, bushy tail was curled up, swaying from side to side as he walked. His steps were light, and he couldn't get enough of his walks. Adorable and with a mind of his own, Taro became a special member of our family. And just like that, eight years and ten months flew by.

Taro taught us many things with his entire being, right up to the very end, about what it means to be involved and to care for another. I will write about it again when I have the chance.

(Date of publication: 2010/03/15)