[Creative Award Entry] Everything Important in Life Was Known by My Beloved Dog Always by My Side: Learning How to Find Happiness from My Cute, Big Toy Poodle Teacher

Introduction: Why I Ended Up Learning About Life from a Dog

I confess. My bookshelf used to be stacked like Jenga with "unread self-help books." There is a reason I use the past tense. They no longer exist. The reason will be explained later.

The one who occupied the top floor of that tower without paying rent was our Toy Poodle, Pu-taro. The incident happened at 2:00 AM. I jumped up at the three-stage sound of "thud, clatter, crash." When I rushed to the living room, it was already a graveyard of books. The cover of "Cleansing the Heart" was torn off, half the pages of "Inner Calm" were stuck together with drool, and "Words for Life" had somehow flown three meters away behind the curtain. And there was Pu-taro, in the center of the wreckage, with a face that said nothing had happened, having stuck his head into an empty yogurt container, getting it stuck, and diving headfirst into the wall.

I gave up on cleaning and sat down on the spot, laughing for thirty minutes. It might have been a nuisance to the neighbors, but the stress of work and the rent demand letters disappeared somewhere for a while in front of a dog who stuck his head in a container and dove into a wall.

Since then, I started writing down Pu-taro's bizarre incidents in a notebook. The incident where he got his legs tangled three times in his leash during a walk and couldn't escape on his own; the incident where he let out a full-throated roar at the delivery person, only to be surprised by his own barking two seconds later and fall backward; the contradiction of identifying the vacuum cleaner as his mortal enemy and threatening it while wagging his tail with all his might. None of these are ever written in self-help books. The moment they were written, the publisher would recall them.

This book is a compilation of the "Pu-taro Bizarre Incident Notebook (a.k.a. With Damage Claims Attached)" that accumulated in this way. It might be an exaggeration to say I learned about life from a dog. But I feel that a dog who sticks his head in a yogurt container and dives into a wall, gets tangled in his own legs three times, and is surprised by his own barking is living life with much more intensity, and with much more intensity in his mistakes.

Table of Contents

Prologue: Why I Ended Up Learning About Life from a Dog

Part 1: Living in the "Now"
Chapter 1: The Technique of Forgetting Yesterday's Failures with a Lick (And Incidentally Forgetting by Being Surprised by Your Own Barking)
Chapter 2: Rather Than Anxiety About Tomorrow That Hasn't Come Yet, the Ball in Front of You (Even If It's Not There, Just Doing the Movements of Searching for the Ball with All Your Might)
Chapter 3: On Rainy Days, Growl at the Glass with All Your Might, and Slip and Fall with That Momentum
Chapter 4: The Talent of Turning Even Boredom into a "Life-or-Death Struggle with Your Own Tail, Followed by Total Defeat"

Part 2: Loving
Chapter 5: The Courage to Run Up Without Conditions (And the Athletic Ability to Crash into Furniture)
Chapter 6: The Greatness of "Just Being There" (Conquering Laps in Midsummer and the Center of the Futon in Midwinter)
Chapter 7: The Thick-Skinned Nature of Forgetting Even After Being Scolded and Coming to Cuddle at Full Speed a Second Later
Chapter 8: The Loneliness of Being Left Alone and the Mysterious State of Damage to the Curtains After Returning Home

Part 3: Organizing Your Heart
Chapter 9: Napping Is Not Escapism, It Is Strategy (On Work Documents, On the Keyboard, On a Pile of Laundry, Decided Instantly Anywhere)
Chapter 10: An Olfactory Philosophy of Life Where You Can Be Happy Just by Smelling (An Overly Strong Obsession with Mysterious Objects on the Roadside)
Chapter 11: When to Bark (Cardboard, Vacuum Cleaners, Balloons, Your Own Shadow) and When You Somehow Stay Silent (Real Guests)
Chapter 12: Just Changing the Walking Route Expands the World (And Stopping at the Same Utility Pole for Thirty Minutes Every Time)

Part 4: Noticing Happiness
Chapter 13: The "Wait" Before Meals Is Very Good... The Ability to Wait for Any Number of Minutes Is Amazing!
Chapter 14: Practicing Expressing Small Joys with Your Whole Body (Followed by Crashing into Furniture, and Zero Reflection)
Chapter 15: The Speed of Aging, and Yet the Unchanging Gluttony and Habit of Diving into Walls
Chapter 16: The Parting That Will Come Someday, and Yet the Thick-Skinned Nature of Begging for Three Treats Today

Epilogue: What My Beloved Dog Taught Me in the End

Chapter 1: The Technique of Forgetting Yesterday's Failures with a Lick (And Incidentally Forgetting by Being Surprised by Your Own Barking)

Even on days when I come home dragging the failures of my work, the moment I open the front door, Pu-taro runs at full speed and crashes into the wall with the momentum of having too much of a running start. The fact that I scolded him yesterday for having an accident in the bathroom and making a small error, or that he was depressed the day before yesterday because I only gave him one treat, no longer exists within him. Or rather, it is highly likely that the memory of just a moment ago was blown away by the impact of crashing into the wall.

The other day, when a delivery arrived, Pu-taro, who doesn't usually bark much, barked with all his might, "Woof!!" He himself was the most surprised by the volume of that sound. He jerked his body back, flipped over backward, and stopped for a few seconds with all four legs pointing at the ceiling. I had never seen a creature that falls over from being surprised by its own voice until then.

Humans are creatures that inevitably ruminate on yesterday's slips of the tongue and past failures. Everyone must have experienced nights where they repeatedly replay "I should have said that at that time" after getting into bed. But Pu-taro's reflection time is two seconds by feel. Rather, the next accident occurs before he can reflect.

I have come to understand that this is not so much "forgetful" as it is "physically having no room to look back on old accidents because he is constantly causing new ones." I wish humans had the same ability to switch gears. But at the same time, considering the repair costs for my home's walls and curtains, it is hard to recommend it with all my might.

The message of this chapter
Even when negative things happen, it is important to switch gears. Besides, even if you overthink things, nothing major will happen.

Chapter 2: Rather than worrying about tomorrow that hasn't come yet, focus on the ball right in front of you (or just go through the motions of searching for a ball with all your might, even if there isn't one)

When I show Pootaro a ball, all other information disappears from his world. The doorbell for a delivery, the sound of my voice, the volume of the TV—none of it reaches his ears. All that exists is the ball, and a pure white world consisting only of the ball and himself.

The problem arises not only when I actually throw the ball, but also when I don't. The other day, when I pretended to throw it but hid the ball, Pootaro sprinted with all his might to the back of the garden and spent ten minutes searching for a ball that didn't exist. With his tail wagging and his nose pressed against the ground, he had an expression of absolute seriousness. Seeing him search with all his might for a ball that couldn't possibly be there, believing it existed, looked a bit sad from the outside, but he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself.

There are nights when I can't sleep because I'm thinking about work tomorrow. I anticipate failures that haven't happened yet, becoming anxious and wasting my current time on a future that hasn't arrived. For Pootaro, the concept of such worry doesn't exist. All he has is the ball right in front of him now (or the ball he believes is there).

If I'm going to anticipate tomorrow's anxieties, it might actually be happier to chase after a non-existent ball with all my might. Although, Pootaro's face when he realized, after digging in the garden with a serious look for ten minutes, that the ball had been in my pocket the whole time was quite a sight to behold.

The message of this chapter
Instead of worrying about things that haven't even happened, let's live 100% in the here and now!

Chapter 3: On rainy days, growl at the glass with all your might, and slip and fall in the process

On rainy days, Pootaro always takes his position in front of the window. For some reason, he starts to growl low at the swaying tree branches on the other side of the glass and the movement of the raindrops. Whether he realizes that his opponent is just rain is an eternal mystery.

One day, the moment an umbrella left in the garden swayed slightly in the wind, Pootaro completely identified it as an "enemy." He barked with all his might, took a running start, and charged, only to slip perfectly on the hardwood floor and slide straight into the glass door on his side. The umbrella, having secured its victory, continued to sway in the wind as before.

Humans, too, sometimes brace themselves with all their might against intangible anxieties. We imagine something that hasn't happened yet, decide on our own that it is an "enemy," and wear down our hearts and bodies. In many cases, that "enemy," like the umbrella swaying on a rainy day, exists only in our own imagination.

For the sake of Pootaro's honor, I should mention that he got up as if nothing had happened and continued to take his position in front of the window and growl. He showed no signs of reflection on his fall or any particular caution toward the umbrella. I honestly want to learn from that thick-skinned ability to return to the same posture immediately even after failing.

The message of this chapter
Instead of being terrified of imaginary enemies with all your might, first verify whether they are truly enemies.

Chapter 4: The talent to turn even boredom into a "life-or-death struggle with one's own tail, followed by total defeat"

On afternoons when he has nothing to do, Pootaro always starts chasing his own tail as the last item on his to-do list. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason. He just discovers something moving in the corner of his vision, doesn't realize it's his own tail, and begins a full-speed pursuit.

After spinning around three times, he gets dizzy, falls over on his side, and stops for a few seconds. After getting up, he stares at the floor with a dazed look for a while, and then goes to drink water as if nothing had happened. I don't know if there is a sense of satisfaction in this sequence for him, but at least he doesn't look like he was bored.

During boring times, people open their smartphones and endlessly chase after meaningless information. Even though we know there is nothing at the end of the chase, for some reason, we can't stop. I'm starting to feel that Pootaro's tail-chasing and my scrolling are very similar in structure.

The difference is that while he gets dizzy after three spins and stops honestly, I don't even notice that an hour has passed while looking at my smartphone. In terms of how to deal with boredom, honestly, he is much more efficient and healthier.

The message of this chapter
Boredom is not an enemy. If you face something with all your might, boredom will end easily.

Chapter 5: The Courage to Run Up Without Conditions (and the Athletic Ability to Crash into Furniture)

Pootaro runs up at full speed no matter who the other person is. Whether it's me, a friend he's meeting for the first time, or the delivery person (though in this case, while barking), he runs with all his might. Whether there is furniture on his running route is not included in his criteria for judgment.

The other day, when I had a guest, Pootaro was so overjoyed that he crashed into the corner of the sofa with the side of his head, and then jumped onto the guest's lap as if nothing had happened. The guest was genuinely worried, asking, "Are you okay?", but Pootaro himself had already completely moved on to his next action: the mission of licking the guest's face.

Humans usually calculate various things before showing affection to someone. How will the other person think of me, is this attitude correct, is the timing right? During those calculations, the affection itself often fades. Pootaro's calculation formula does not include such variables at all. If he likes you, he runs. That is all.

Of course, since crashing into furniture happens every time, I cannot fully recommend it. But I honestly envy his talent for being able to run up to someone without conditions or calculations. For me to reach that state, I think I need to start by stopping worrying about the furniture.

The message of this chapter
It's too late after you calculate. If you think you like someone, try running up to them first.

Chapter 6: The Greatness of "Just Being There" (Conquering Laps in Midsummer and the Center of the Futon in Midwinter)

Pootaro has almost nothing that could be called a special skill. Giving a paw depends on his mood, sitting is 30% successful, and waiting is zero seconds. His only and greatest skill is "just being there"—and the fact that "there" is always the most inconvenient place for humans.

On a 35-degree day in midsummer, he always comes onto my lap. In midwinter, when I try to get into the futon, he has already conquered the center, and it is I who am pushed to the corner. On the day I fell ill and stayed in bed, he didn't comfort me or worry about me; he just climbed onto my chest and fell asleep with his full weight. It was hard to breathe. But I was definitely saved by that weight.

In human relationships, we tend to feel pressured to "do something for them." Pootaro doesn't give any advice. He just climbs on and takes over the futon. Since I find myself strangely reassured by just that, perhaps I should finally acknowledge this dependency.

The act of "just being there" does not have the power to solve problems. But it certainly has the power to dilute loneliness. Moreover, in Pootaro's case, there is the added benefit of being able to experience it with the sacrifice of oxygen deprivation and the corner of the futon. Sometimes, people can hold on for a while just by the fact that someone is next to them. He proves this with his five-kilogram weight and overwhelming desire to claim territory.

The message of this chapter
Rather than doing something for someone, just being by their side is more of a support.

Chapter 7: The Thick-Skinned Nature of Forgetting Being Scolded in a Second and Running Up to Act Affectionate at Full Speed

There is always a set pattern in the sequence of events when I scold Pootaro. First, his ears flatten, his eyes narrow slightly, and he makes a dejected face. Up to this point, he looks like he is reflecting. But the next moment, without a pause, he headbutts my leg with all his might and then rolls over to show his belly. The time it takes from a look of reflection to a posture of affection is about one second.

The other day, I discovered he had taken one of my shoes and buried it in the garden, so I couldn't help but raise my voice and scold him. Pootaro looked up at me with a dejected face, and the next moment he ran up at full speed and ran away again with another one of my shoes, unrelated to the one he had buried. It seems the boundary between reflection and recidivism does not exist within him.

In human relationships, after being scolded, we often spend an awkward amount of time measuring the distance between ourselves and the other person. We endlessly dwell on what we should have reflected on, which makes things strangely stiff until we meet again. Pu-taro has no concept of such awkwardness. One second after being scolded, he has already entered the next phase of relationship building.

You could call it thick-skinned, or you might even doubt his ability to learn. But honestly, I am often saved by his attitude, where his trust in me never wavers even after being scolded. Instead of taking distance for fear of breaking the relationship, he tries running up to me first. I believe his attitude, at least, is worth emulating. Though, I wish he would spare my shoes.

The message of this chapter
Instead of letting awkwardness drag on, have the courage to run back to them without doubting their trust.

The mystery of the damaged curtains

Before I go out, I always tell Pu-taro, 'It's okay, I'll be right back.' He always looks back at me with eyes that seem to ask, 'Is that true?' I feel like I can't lie to those eyes, and my steps become a little heavier as I leave the house. But to be honest, 80% of that guilt is shattered by the disaster that awaits me upon my return.

It happened on a day I returned after being out for three hours. The moment I opened the door, countless feathers were scattered on the floor. The contents of the feather duvet covered the entire room as if it had snowed heavily. Pu-taro, covered in feathers, was wagging his tail at me with all his might. There was not a trace of him having been tormented by loneliness. In fact, there was even a sense of accomplishment, as if he were saying, 'Let me show you the fresh snow.'

On another day, the bottom half of the curtains was riddled with holes like a lace pattern. The motive for the crime is unknown. Whether he mistook them for prey or it was just a way to kill time, even if I ask him, he only replies with a 'woof.' The interrogation always ends in a stalemate.

When I look up separation anxiety in dogs, many books explain that 'dogs left alone cause problem behaviors out of loneliness.' Of course, that aspect exists. But looking at the feather-covered scene in my house, it seems that his creativity in 'how to effectively utilize his free time' is being exerted far more strongly than loneliness.

Humans, too, sometimes have time on their hands. A day off with no plans, an afternoon where you don't see anyone. You can decide that such time is 'lonely' and shut yourself away, or you can try something new with the same intensity as dismantling a feather duvet. Of course, the cost of replacing the duvet hurts, but his attitude of 'using his alone time to the fullest' has a strange persuasiveness to it.

After returning home, I always reach the same conclusion while cleaning up the feathers. Pu-taro might have been lonely while left alone. But at the same time, he was definitely busy.

The message of this chapter
Don't just decide that your alone time is lonely; try to use it in your own way.

Chapter 9: Napping is not an escape, it is a strategy (on work documents, on the keyboard, on a pile of laundry, a quick decision anywhere)

Pu-taro spends about eighteen hours a day sleeping. Moreover, his criteria for choosing a place to sleep is always 'the place a human wants to use most right now.' The other day, he fell fast asleep on top of documents I was about to submit, and the documents were beautifully scattered in a fan shape due to his sleeping posture. The next day, he slept on the keyboard of my charging laptop, causing an incident where the power button was pressed five times in a row. The computer repeatedly started up and shut down five times, and in the end, it gave up before I did.

He sleeps before he gets tired. He lies down quickly while he still has energy. Humans often reverse this order. We push ourselves until we are on the verge of collapsing, and then we try to rest in a panic. It is possible that Pu-taro has never even considered the option of 'pushing himself' since he was born.

In modern society, 'resting' is often talked about as if it were a sin. But watching Pu-taro's generous, unprincipled, and power-button-involving naps, it starts to feel like resting is not an escape, but a preparation period for the next mess. I don't think it can be called a strategy anymore, but he is dignified about it.

The message of this chapter
Resting is not an escape. Have the courage to rest before you collapse.

Chapter 10: An Olfactory Philosophy of Life Where You Can Be Happy Just by Smelling (An Excessive Obsession with Mysterious Objects on the Roadside)

What influences Pootaro's level of happiness most during a walk is not the scenery or the weather, but the scent of mysterious objects dropped on the roadside. At the base of an ordinary utility pole, he spends over three minutes each time carefully analyzing the scent. What looks like just a stain to me is likely a news site containing a vast amount of information to him.

The problem is when that mysterious object is sometimes 'truly just a mysterious object.' The other day, when I pulled Pootaro away after he found something in the park and was rubbing his face against it intensely, the true identity was clearly the remains of someone's dropped fried food. Bath time after returning home was more thorough than usual.

Even so, his obsession with scents has a strange persuasiveness. Humans tend to be swayed by the sheer volume of information that enters their eyes, losing sight of what truly makes them happy. Pootaro is different. If he smells something good, his tail spins at high speed just from that. His standard for happiness is extremely simple and, moreover, unwavering.

However, I think it is truly impossible to apply that standard—where one feels happy rubbing their face against fried food remains—directly to humans.

Message of this chapter
The standard for happiness can be simple. Do not lose sight of the 'good scents' for yourself.

Chapter 11: Times to Bark (Cardboard, Vacuum Cleaners, Balloons, Your Own Shadow) and Times When You Somehow Stay Silent (Real Visitors)

Pootaro's list of targets to be wary of includes cardboard, vacuum cleaners, balloons, and his own shadow. The moment these enter his field of vision, he begins to bark with a voice that echoes throughout the house. Especially regarding the vacuum cleaner, even years after designating it as his arch-nemesis, he intimidates it with all his might the moment he hears the operating sound. However, he always keeps a distance of at least two meters.

On the other hand, whether he could actually handle a real burglar or suspicious person is, honestly, quite doubtful. Previously, when a stranger who was not a delivery person rang the doorbell, Pootaro didn't bark at all; instead, he stood by at the entrance wagging his tail. In terms of security capability, cardboard is treated with much more caution.

Humans, too, tend to react to threats that are easy to see and understand rather than problems that truly require attention. We can bark with all our might at obvious opponents like cardboard, but we often fail to notice the real problems that approach quietly.

I don't know if we should follow Pootaro's security policy. At the very least, our house boasts an impenetrable defense against cardboard and balloons.

Message of this chapter
Before reacting to obvious threats, let's identify what truly requires attention.

Chapter 12: Just Changing the Walking Route Expands the World (And Stopping for Thirty Minutes at the Same Utility Pole Every Time)

When I try changing the walking route from the usual one, Pootaro's level of excitement is three times higher than normal. Unknown scents, unknown scenery, the presence of unknown dogs. The way everything rushes into his nose and ears as new information is fun just to watch from the side.

However, even on a new route, there is always a 'utility pole that is special to him.' The reason is unknown, but he stops for nearly thirty minutes in front of that pole every time and verifies the scent from every angle. If I encounter this pole on a day when I am in a hurry, it is honestly quite troublesome. But since he is completely serious, I don't have the heart to pull him away by force.

There is so much to learn from walking Pu-taro, like how just changing your daily route a little can make the world feel so much wider. At the same time, no matter how much the world expands, the way he always stops at his own specific points of interest is somehow human and makes me feel a sense of kinship.

The message of this chapter
Just by choosing a different path than usual, the world expands more than you might think.

Chapter 13: He is very good at 'wait' before meals... The ability to wait for minutes is amazing!

I taught Pu-taro to 'wait' about half a year after he came to our house. At first, I thought I would lose my patience within three days, just like with other tricks. Surprisingly, however, it seems that this 'wait' command triggered a strangely serious mode in him.

When I say 'wait,' he first stops moving, then freezes completely without taking his eyes off the bowl. Even if I get up from my seat to take care of other business and return five minutes later, he remains in the same posture, staring at the bowl without a single twitch. Only a bit of drool drips quietly, but his body does not move an inch. There have been times when he held that position for nearly ten minutes.

What is mysterious is the look on his face during those ten minutes. Rather than impatience to eat quickly, there is a quiet concentration, as if he is intently observing something. Even though the contents of the bowl aren't moving, he keeps staring at it as if the entire world were packed inside.

What about humans? Even when something is right in front of us, we reach for our smartphones before we take the time to look slowly. We often don't really look at the taste of the food we ate today or the expressions of the people next to us. The next schedule, the next notification, the next piece of information. Because we are so concerned with the 'next,' the time we spend looking at the 'now' has become surprisingly short.

Pu-taro's 'wait' might not just be a test of patience. He simply stares at what is right in front of him without thinking about anything unnecessary. He makes sure to create that much time every single time. It is precisely before his greatest joy—a meal—that he dares to stop and look intently. That attitude quietly asks us, who tend to be swept away by busyness: Are you really looking at what is in front of you right now?

The moment I say 'go ahead,' he finally brings his face close to the bowl. But strangely, he always chews that first bite slowly and carefully. Perhaps the way he savors it changes because it comes after ten minutes of staring. At least, that is how it looks to me.

The message of this chapter
Don't rush ahead; take the time to look intently at what is right in front of you.

Chapter 14: Practicing expressing small joys with your whole body (followed by crashing into furniture, and zero remorse)

There is no such thing as moderation in how Pu-taro expresses joy. The moment he realizes we are going for a walk, he runs around the room at full speed. I have yet to confirm whether he has a braking function during these times. He often fails to make a turn and crashes into a wall, but he just rights himself and keeps running.

One day, right after he bumped head-first into a table leg, he was wagging only his tail with all his might while still lying on the floor. In that moment where pain and joy coexisted, joy had definitely won out for him.

When humans express joy, it is usually accompanied by some restraint or embarrassment. Even when we are happy from the bottom of our hearts, we suppress our expressions or lower our voices. Pu-taro has none of that self-control. If he is happy, he outputs that joy with his whole body, sometimes even while crashing into furniture.

If you ask me if we should follow his example, I cannot answer immediately when I think about the cost of home repairs. However, watching that full-throttle way of being happy makes me think that maybe it would be okay to discard a little bit of our restraint.

The message of this chapter
When you are happy, it is okay to express it with your whole body without restraint.

Chapter 15: The Speed of Aging, Unchanging Gluttony, and the Habit of Diving into Walls

Poo-taro has been getting older little by little. It takes him longer to climb the stairs than before, and he runs around less right after waking up in the morning. More gray hairs are appearing around his mouth. I have come to feel the passage of time more through him.

Even so, his reaction speed the moment he hears the sound of treats has not faded at all. If anything, it feels even sharper than before. And as always, he crashes into furniture when he gets excited. While aging seems to gradually take away physical strength and precision of movement, his gluttony and momentum seem to be exempt from that.

I, too, have a fear of aging. The feeling of gradually losing the ability to do things I once could is honestly scary. But watching Poo-taro makes me realize that even if your movements slow down a bit, you don't have to lose your passion for the things you love. I don't know how the frequency of his wall-crashing will change in the future, but at least for now, that momentum is alive and well.

Message of this chapter
Even if you can do less, you don't have to lose your passion for what you love.

Chapter 16: The Inevitable Farewell and the Audacity to Beg for Three Treats Anyway

The day of parting with Poo-taro will come someday. Just thinking about it makes my chest ache, even as I write this book. I know in my head that these days, where I laugh every time he crashes into furniture, are not something to be taken for granted.

But right next to me, while I'm having such lonely thoughts, Poo-taro is begging for three treats today as well. He isn't satisfied with one, gives me a look that says two isn't enough, and only wags his tail happily at the third. While I am pondering the future of our farewell, he is fully committed to the extremely practical problem of today's treats.

Sometimes, I am saved by that audacity. Rather than anticipating a sad future and worrying about the present, he gives his all to the treats in front of him. His way of life has been consistent from the beginning of this book to the end. To live this moment to the fullest. Even if it is just a negotiation for three treats.

Message of this chapter
Instead of fearing farewells and neglecting the present, let's cherish living each day.

Final Chapter: What My Dog Taught Me in the End

Even now, having finished writing this book, Poo-taro is snoring amidst the remains of books and scraps of curtains. I know, of course, that he isn't intentionally teaching me anything. He is just living as a dog, quite freely, and quite mercilessly toward the furniture.

However, that figure of 'living in the moment with all his might, usually while destroying something' reminds us of something we humans have left behind somewhere. Living in the moment. Running up to someone without conditions (even if it results in crashing into a wall). Not being afraid to rest (even if that spot is my work documents). Expressing small joys with his whole body, sometimes falling over in surprise at his own voice. None of these are special doctrines or complex theories. They are just things that one dog, snoring on top of the remains of a book, does as a matter of course every day.

The day of parting with Poo-taro will surely come. Thinking about it makes my chest tighten, but at the same time, I think. The greatest thing he taught me is 'not to neglect today's treat time and wall-diving out of fear of farewell.' To simply and quietly (and while worrying a little about repair costs) savor the warmth of him snoring grandly next to me today, occasionally twitching and surprising himself with his own sleep-talking. That might be the message that this little philosopher, who looks wise but is actually quite scatterbrained, has been conveying along with his snoring from amidst the pile of collapsed books and torn curtains.

There are no more unread self-help books left on my bookshelf. But I feel like there is no need to rush to read them anymore. The answers were taught to me long ago by Poo-taro through his dives into the wall and yogurt stains. Honestly, I still wish he would teach me how to cover the repair costs, though.

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