The Bond My Beloved Dog Gave Me

One day when I’d gone out to walk the dog, my beloved dog Guts went and peed on a garbage bag at the neighborhood collection spot.

Knowing it was wrong, just as I was about to leave the spot, a man who seemed to be the master of the house across from it bellowed at me with terrific fury: “Where do you think you’re letting him pee? Wipe it up and clean it.”

At the sheer abuse, my own blood heated up and I felt like snapping back, but calming my heart, I said, “I’m sorry. The dog isn’t to blame—it’s my responsibility. I’ll come back later and clean it up,” and left the spot.

Bucket and rag in hand, I returned to the garbage spot at once, and my contest began: I’ll clean it thoroughly, I resolved.

Wiping each garbage bag cleaner than necessary, returning home several times to scrub the road with a brush and fresh water—just then, “That’s enough, that’ll do,” the master from before called out. “No, it still smells, so a bit more,” I said, cleaning on out of stubbornness, and just then the master appeared again and held out to me a crumpled paper bag.

“These are sweet potatoes sent from my hometown—take them. You didn’t have to clean it up this much…”

In my heart: “I won.”

A few years later, sadly, my beloved Guts passed away, but every time I meet the master I remember Guts, and thanks to this incident, he and I are on friendly terms even now.