Someday, the day will come when I cry seeing pears sold in the produce section

My family's dog has many favorite foods, but the one it loves above all else is pears. Not apples, but pears.

While apples can be bought at supermarkets year-round, the same cannot be said for seasonal fruits like pears. Besides, compared to apples, pears are also an expensive fruit. Given the family's budget, I had tried offering cut apples, thinking, 'If possible, and really only within reason, please accept this as a favorite too,' but the dog just snorted as if mocking me and that was that.
Although it usually lived as a gentle dog with a carefree expression and its tongue lolling out, when it came to its favorite food, it was a genuine glutton that allowed for absolutely no compromise.

The dog at my parents' house, which grew steadily from a baby to an adult and then to an old dog, has now become a super senior dog, about 90 years old in human terms.

The laid-back, easygoing baby is exactly what my dog grew up to be.

As for changes, perhaps the only one is that after having teeth extracted due to age-related periodontal disease, the teeth that held its tongue in place were also removed, resulting in a permanent tongue-out look.
It is occasionally tucked away, but when it sneezes or shakes its head, the whole tongue comes out, so it seems to be an outdoor-type tongue by nature.
I once asked, 'Are you planning to make that your campsite?' but it gave me a look that seemed to say, 'Huh?' Well, of course it did.

Until a few years ago, I thought that even though it was getting old, it was still healthy, hadn't had any major illnesses, and above all, had a hearty appetite, so it would live for a long time yet. I thought the dog would always be there, attached to my side, right next to my life and my existence.

But lately, watching the dog's condition, I've started to think that might not be the case, and it feels like a hole is opening in my heart. Even though I don't want to think about it or admit it, I find myself thinking only about the dog. I wonder if this is what love is. Well, 'love' and 'dog' are both just two characters in Japanese anyway.

The dog hasn't been well lately. Its appetite is unstable, and it has started coughing. We go to the hospital, have tests done, and continue treatment with injections and medication, but we don't even know the cause of the cough. Even if we did, they say there are few treatment options for such an old dog. The doctor has been truly wonderful to us, and I have nothing but gratitude.
My parents, who live with the dog at home, also feel that 'as long as this little one doesn't suffer, doesn't have a hard time, and can live freely until the end, that's all that matters,' and I agree. Even if a treatment were found, if it meant living a little longer but with suffering and pain, I wouldn't choose that path. My precious treasure is already at that stage. I know.

Today, my mother bought the first pears of the season at the supermarket. A 500-yen pear, for our elderly dog.

Naturally, this pear is for the dog and will never pass human lips. Even if we were lucky enough to eat some, it would only be the scraps from the edges of the finely chopped pear. Everything else belongs to the dog.
It might be unbelievable to people who have never lived with a dog or animal, but this phenomenon happens quite often.
As an example, the air purifier and air conditioner installed at my parents' house are all operated based on the dog's needs, and to back that up, both the air conditioner and air purifier are only installed in the second-floor living room, which is the dog's base of operations. I suppose the dog owns all the rights and love in that house. Just as humans offer it, the dog also always gave love to us, our family.

The pear, finely chopped so that the elderly dog could eat it easily, was put into a food bowl with 'HAPPY DOG' written in big letters and offered to the dog. The dog, whose eyes, nose, and ears are no longer very sharp, used all its remaining strength to reach the bowl. It sniffed it, and began to eat immediately. Even though it had been turning its nose up at food lately regardless of whether it was a favorite or not, it was a pear after all. The first pear of the season. This is the power of a 500-yen pear.
Thanks to it being finely chopped, there's no texture to speak of, but I think the dog loves the juiciness of the pear, so that doesn't seem to be a problem. My mother, who provided the pear, ate her mozuku seaweed and natto rice in the kitchen while happily watching the dog eat the pear. What a modest woman she is.

Watching the dog eat the pear, I remembered many things.

The dog's love for pears started when it was small.
It would think that any pear on the dining table was meant for it and had been served by mistake, and it would use its strong leg muscles to jump with a springiness you wouldn't expect from a small dog, trying to reclaim the pear from the table.
When it saw humans eating pears, it would come to our feet with a look of great surprise, and with a pained expression as if to say, 'You have so many things that only you can eat, so why do you steal a dog's pear?' it would tap our knees and protest fiercely. Even if it had already received a pear from my mother.
Even if there was still a piece of pear left in its mouth, it would appeal with its whole body, 'Why are you eating that pear that I haven't even had a bite of yet?' It would even appeal to our emotions while trembling slightly. When it came to pears, it was a tactician. In that moment, the dog became Zhuge Liang. That's an exaggeration.

After such a funny, lively, slightly troublesome, yet beloved life, the dog grew old.

Now, it doesn't even notice when humans are eating pears. Even if we put them proudly on the dining table, it can't see them, and even if we bite into them with a crisp sound, that sound doesn't reach the dog. So, we could eat them openly, and if we stayed quiet, it wouldn't notice, but my mother is always looking for pears, single-mindedly wanting to feed them to the dog.
Even when it's not pear season, she searches for them using the internet because it makes the dog happy, and because it might eat them. No matter how expensive the pears she finds are, she buys them, even cutting into our own food budget, to feed the dog.

Even if it looks like eccentric behavior to others, to me, that action was nothing but love. It's not about the amount of money spent, but the time spent, the feeling of wanting the dog to eat something it likes and finds delicious, and when you bundle together everything else directed at the dog, I thought that collective term is love.

Like pears, there are many things that have become seamlessly integrated into my life during the time I've lived with the dog. Toys with whistles that squeak when bitten, bones wrapped in chicken breast, dental chews, bonito flakes for pets, boiled chicken breast.
Raised in a farming household, the dog also likes vegetables, perhaps because it has a vegetarian streak. Asparagus, broccoli, corn, snap peas. Fresh, boiled vegetables are the dog's privilege, and it would come to the kitchen dancing, lured by the smell while they were still boiling, and cling to my mother. It was like a dance hall.
Before I knew it, things connected to the dog had increased in my life. Even things that other people would just pass by, like mere vegetables or objects, are places where the dog is for me. A good-natured dog with a goofy face and its tongue out, always lying there and smiling.

Today, when I saw the dog eat a little bit of pear and go back to its bed. When I saw it stumble and stagger with unsteady steps on the way. I had a feeling, just a feeling, that by the time the first pears of next year come out, the dog might not be here.
Of course, it might still be here, and I want it to be, but the moment I thought about the possibility of it not being here, anxiety spread through my heart like spilled dark ink and wouldn't go away. No matter how much I tried to wipe it away, it just spread and widened, so I gave up. I gave up on trying to remove everything related to the dog, not the dog itself.

Because the dog is alive. Even if it only eats a little, it still loves pears today. If I asked, 'What about me and the pear?', it would probably glance at me as a courtesy and then trot over to the pear, so its love for pears is still very much alive.
So, well, I guess it's okay. It's not okay, but I guess it's okay. If I don't decide that it's okay, I feel like I'll lose my mind, so I'll say it's okay. If I don't think that way, I'll go crazy.

But today, I think I'll probably cry several times before I go to sleep, imagining myself crying as memories come flooding back every time I see pears in the produce section someday. I want you to laugh at what a gloomy future prediction that is. Because I think that would save me a little. I don't know, though.

When I carefully knead and shape the existence of an old dog—with its cuteness, its varied worries, and the way it sometimes causes all sorts of trouble and hassle—into a nice form. I want to call what is created there love as well.