Tetsu arrived at my grandparents' house when I was 17, a mixed-breed shelter dog of humble origin. In addition to Tetsu, my grandfather had another dog, a beautiful purebred Akita (with papers!) named Tora. Tora was my grandfather's pride and joy, and, unfortunately, also a bitch, figuratively and literally. Immediately upon Tetsu's arrival, Tora made clear that she ruled the roost. And, perhaps to emphasize the point, she demanded tribute from Tetsu. You know, that things would be amicable so long as she "had her taste." So at meal time once Tora cleared her bowl, she'd move over to Tetsu's bowl. I tried to intervene on his behalf, but my grandfather stopped me and, spoken like a true man of his generation, simply said, "No, he must find his own solution." Tora being twice his size, physical confrontation was definitely not the solution. So instead he developed a habit of eating really quickly, a habit that lingered well after Tora's departure.
I didn't get that much time with Tetsu, as his arrival coincided pretty closely with my leaving for college. My grandparents eventually moved in with my parents, and Tetsu came with them. A bad childhood experience had calcified into a hatred for dogs within my mom, so she'd have nothing to do with Tetsu. And, my grandparents finding it harder and harder to do some of the things they could before, Tetsu became my dad's ward. Now, my dad is a very stoic individual, but with Tetsu I'd see him a bit more emotive than usual (usually when he thought no one was looking). I'd often see him petting Tetsu and saying, "Yosh, yosh (There, there)." Affirmation of their bond; that everything's alright.
My mom always thought Tora's influence during Tetsu's formative years helped shape his personality, what she described as kind, quiet, and somewhat passive. I tended to disagree with that characterization. Even as a puppy, he had a certain sense of ochitsuki or stillness. How a pond can be still. Serene. Although, there were a couple of stones that created major turbulence in the proverbial pond, one being possums. For one reason or another Tetsu decided that possums were his mortal enemies. Every once in a while one would come in the black of night and scurry along the top of the wall in the back yard. And without fail Tetsu would, to use technical phrasing, go bananas. Barking and jumping and flailing around at the foot of the wall. The more the futility seemed to sink in, the more bananas Tetsu would go. All the while the possum would pay no mind, knowing that as a general rule dogs can't climb walls and, specific to the immediate situation, Tetsu couldn't jump that high. And so after a brief pause to taunt Tetsu, the possum would continue on its nocturnal journey, and Tetsu would suffer another defeat.
In addition to possums, there was one other thing that seemed to really aggravate Tetsu--my dad's garden. Having grown up on a farm in Japan, my dad is blessed with a green thumb. One of the many perks of visiting my parents is a bag full of fresh produce--tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplants, cucumbers, you name it. All of it hand-picked and downright delicious (the sweet sensation of biting into fresh vegetables cannot be overstated). I'd venture to guess that my dad's affection for his garden was on par with that for Tetsu. Sometimes I'd just sit there and watch him as he meticulously pruned and tended to each plant. And I'd see Tetsu watching, too, with what I can only describe as a tinge of disdain. Every once in a while, just as the garden was really starting to flourish, Tetsu would raze it to the ground. A monster movie where the giant canine shows no mercy on the helpless photosynthetic residents of Gardenville. Obviously, my dad was not pleased, and he'd make that known to Tetsu. My mom would chime in with her familiar refrain--"Baka inu (stupid dog)." My dad would then erect all manner of barriers to keep him out, each one more elaborate than the last. And yet, Tetsu would find a way to get in there and show the garden that he ruled the roost. He's not a dumb dog; he knows destroying the garden is frowned upon. Nor is he an undisciplined dog; it's not some feral compulsion that drove him because he'd made truce with all non-garden plants. His tenacity led me to chalk it all up to jealousy for my dad's affection. "How could you cheat on me with these . . . with these . . . THINGS!??!?!" Hey, it may seem silly and irrational to you, but he's just a dog, ok?
A couple months ago I went to my parents' house to pick up my dad for some father-son lunch action. I got there a bit late, so things were kind of rushed. You know, reservations and all. As we were about to leave, I realized that Tetsu hadn't come to greet me as he usually does. I chalked it up to aging, which I guess sucks for dogs, too. He'd recently turned 14, and you could tell. Anyway, I looked around for a bit and finally found him in the yard, sitting in the sun and gazing into the distance with an intensity and earnestness I hadn't seen since days long past. Ears perked up, chest puffed out, back straight--if something so mundane as a dog sitting could be described as "regal," this was it. I left for lunch with that imagine in my mind, and afterwards went to check on him. I eventually found him in the garage. He was obviously not well.
It's one of those moments where your brain and heart are sending you drastically different signals, the cold cerebral facts conflicting with all the desire in your heart. I quickly went to get my parents. After surveying the scene, my dad knelt down to softly pet Tetsu with a familiar, "Yosh, yosh." I asked my dad for the vet's number, but he calmly put his hand up and said, "Iranai (no need)," confirming what we all already knew. My mom and I then knelt down with my dad, and the next great journey for Tetsu began shortly thereafter. That was probably the closest I'd ever come to seeing my dad cry. After Tetsu passed, my dad went inside the house to go make the necessary arrangements. As I was helping him do that, I noticed that my mom had gone missing. I found her in the garage with Tetsu. She had placed a bunch of beautiful red flowers all around him--flowers from my dad's garden. She had her hands together, eyes closed, and was whispering something. A private moment with perhaps the one canine, baka inu or not, who'd secretly thawed her abject hatred for dogs. I joined her and we stood there in silence for a good while, each of us with our own thoughts and memories of the little rascal.
Recently I've been thinking a lot about the universe and fate and life and all that other kind of mumbo jumbo/hocus pocus that us non-scientific people tend to think about. Tetsu stuck out to me because on that fateful day, my dad and I had actually planned to go get some coffee after lunch. But when we got to the chosen coffee house, it was closed. At that point we decided to head home for some home brew instead. Had that coffee shop been open, well, a very different narrative above. Perhaps it's a bit much to chalk that up to more than coincidence, but I also think back to how I saw Tetsu before my dad and I left for lunch--calm, knowing, prepared. I tend to think that when the time comes, we know. I see no reason why it would be any different for dogs nor any reason why dogs wouldn't want to say goodbye to their dear friends. Tetsu had been with us for what amounted to almost a century in Tetsu Years, and I truly think the affection that developed between he and my father powered his will to hang around for just a bit longer--"Not yet, Cerberus. I've got one last thing to do." In any case, I'm glad things worked out the way they did. And, wherever he is now, I hope that no possums are giving him grief.
--KM
"They will see us waving from such great heights, 'Come down now,' they'll say."
When I started reading this post, I was wondering where you were going with it. But man, what a sad story. Tetsu sounds like a good friend.
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