A Boy and His Dog

 

 

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When I was young, this was my favourite book. That I grew up to be a cat person is another story entirely.  What you should take from this is that the idea of a boy and his dog resonates with me on a level that only your childhood can.

Whenever I watched movies, I enjoyed scenes where dogs were smart enough to behave like people and respond or react like people did. This included dogs like Benji (who my sister claimed could open a metal pudding cup so neatly that no chocolate stayed on the lid–I now know that was a bit of Hollywood fakery, but at the time it was impressive).  There were other dogs which seemed to embody this idea in TV shows and movies from the time I was a chihachikold until today.

The only dog I have seen who is remotely as smart as this is my neighbour’s dog. Benny seems incredibly smart, and seems to own the entire street.  Everyone knows him and everyone seems to agree with my assessment.

When I moved to Japan, I heard the story of Hachiko, the dog who loyally waited for his master every day at the train station.  When his master died, the dog continued to wait until it died of starvation.  The statue of Hachiko is a must visit for all animal loving people who find themselves in Tokyo.

All of these things are connected to Today’s Perfect Moment.

Enough preamble.

Today’s Perfect Moment happened as my subway arrived at the terminus. The remaining passengers, of which I was a weary one, filed out of the car, onto the platform, and headed for the stairs.  I could see that the people in front of me were parting and moving to the side, as if some obstacle needed to be navigated.  This usually means there are people coming down the stairs, occasionally racing to catch the subway before it starts its return journey.

When I got to the obstacle, it turned out to be one of those small dogs with log bodies. Presumably, it was following its master, but it seemed more like the dog was on a journey of its own.  I guessed that the young man  walking in front, who didn’t even  look back was the master.  The dog navigated the gap between the subway platform and the subway car easily and entered the car.  It was such a cute scene.  I smiled to myself, and thought of the book. This was certainly the story of a boy and his dog.

Then I dragged my weary body up the stairs and headed to the bus platform.

 

About Anthony

I am: equal parts rebel, romantic and shockingly average Joe. a writer trapped inside of an ESL teacher's body. an introverted attention seeker. a teacher who hopes one day to be called "Captain, my Captain." an intellectual who can do some very dumb things. a person whose Japan experience, despite being so long ago, still exerts a strong influence upon him. a lover of books, music, beer, hockey and Pizza.
This entry was posted in Aspirations, Reflections, Perfection, loyalty, subway, TTC and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to A Boy and His Dog

  1. I haven’t heard that Japanese story, but I’ve heard similar stories from other cultures. Maybe dogs really are that loyal! I couldn’t get my cat to wait on anything! 😄

  2. Rumors about the cause of Hachiko’s death are rampant but I assure you that starvation can be readily dismissed. No *way* would the Japanese let the dog go hungry. (If anything, he’d be overfed and fat!) Though we’ll never know for certain, I tend to side with the illness theory; the dog was old after all!
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hachik%C5%8D

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