Something to hold on to

I acquired a dog in Japan while I was living on a semi-tropical island in the East China Sea. Years later, Tanegashima became the country’s rocket launch site. But back then, it was unspoiled, rural, and sparsely populated.

One day a skinny stray dog showed up at my house and stayed. So I fed him. He followed me everywhere. I rode a Honda 250CL, so old and battered that it had flashlights duct-taped fore and aft.

About a year later, when I was living in Kyoto, I had parked the bike on the street for a week while I was down with the flu. By the time I recovered—a neighbor told me—a garbage truck had hauled it away.

Back to the dog. After work on the island, I would ride the bike to a beach, leaving the dog in the dust. But no matter where I chose to swim, when I emerged from the sea, often with a haul of uni, there was the dog, sitting quietly by the bike.

He was a good dog.