Go to the Dog Star
A sound as thin as a thread rose from inside the room. The kind of sound you would never have caught if you weren't already listening for it. But to Na Haram, just stepping out of the kitchen, it rang out with perfect clarity.
A water bowl in one hand, a warm washcloth in the other, her footsteps quickened.
"Is my Dodam awake?"
Through the open bedroom door, a white silhouette came into view. It belonged to a Maltese. To Dodam.
Na Haram let out a quiet breath. My Dodam can't even move anymore. Until this morning, at least, she had still been able to lift her head.
She sat down beside the little dog where she lay, stroked her head, and gathered her into her arms. The way Na Haram held her was extraordinarily careful—the kind of touch that felt as if the slightest extra pressure might cause her to crumble.
Eh, eh, eh~.
A sound leaked from Dodam's mouth as she nestled against Na Haram's chest. It meant she was happy.
Only a few days ago, Dodam had still barked—small, but clear. Ang-ang-ang. That same Dodam could now manage nothing more than eh-eh, eh-eh, or a thin kii, kii.
Na Haram's chest felt as though it might split open.
Three months earlier, the animal hospital had delivered the verdict: Dodam didn't have much time left. They hadn't said how long. But as Dodam was being discharged, the director had bid her goodbye with, "Dodam, let's make sure we see each other again." A follow-up exam had already been scheduled for a week later. For him to say it that way could only have meant she might not even last the week.
And yet, under Na Haram's care, Dodam was still breathing.
The hospital called it a miracle. But Na Haram knew. She's grateful to me. Grateful—and that was why she hadn't been able to leave. Even while she endured the pain.
Na Haram felt grateful, and sorry, and so terribly tender toward her it ached. Unlike everything she held inside, she looked at Dodam with the same gentle smile as always. She knew that companion animals read their guardian's heart at once. And so, smiling, she spoke to her.
"Dodam, are you thirsty?"
Instead of answering, Dodam only stared at her. She didn't want to drink. But her mouth was parched dry. And that wasn't all. Her eyes, crusted with yellowish discharge, were dry too. The whites sitting above those hazy pupils were surely raw and bloodshot. If only she'd close her eyes, even a little. For days now, except for the briefest moments of sleep, Dodam had kept them open.
She kept them open to look at her. And when Na Haram slipped from her sight, she filled her eyes with the room. As if she were determined to remember everything, Dodam would not close them.
It must have stung terribly. It must have hurt. Na Haram checked the clock. An hour had passed since she'd put artificial tears in Dodam's eyes. The hospital had said twice a day. That doesn't mean anything to my Dodam anymore. Not being in pain is what matters most. So whenever her eyes looked dry, Na Haram moistened them at once. Even when she closed the lids for her, they flew open the moment she took her hands away. There was nothing else to be done.
So she would put the tears in. To make it hurt even a little less. But first, that parched mouth.
"Just this once, okay? Let's have a little drink."
Na Haram took the syringe she'd set out beside her and eased water into Dodam's mouth. She sat her up a little so it wouldn't go down the wrong way, and let it trickle in at the corner of her lips. Then came a welcome sound.
Slurp, slurp, slurp.
The sound of Dodam swallowing. A smile touched Na Haram's lips—not the one she had forced a moment before, but one that rose from the heart.
"Aww, that's my girl. You're doing so well. Drinking so well."
Na Haram praised her, and Dodam, basking in it, finished every drop the syringe held. All of three milliliters.
"Oh, my Dodam, you're so strong. You finished it all? Want some more?"
But that was the end of it. She refused the second round. Water trickled out the corner of her mouth.
"Th-that's all right. Shall we stop, my Dodam?"
Na Haram set the syringe aside and dabbed the wet fur with a towel. Her touch was exquisitely careful. Even then, Dodam kept looking up at her—with eyes from which sticky discharge still dangled.
Na Haram touched the washcloth she'd set beside her. It was still warm.
"Dodam, let's clean your eyes."
She gently soaked the crusted discharge with the washcloth and wiped it away with the utmost care. Then—drop—she let the artificial tears fall. The pupils that had gone cloudy with dryness turned dark and began to shine.
Could cataract-clouded eyes really look that black? But to Na Haram, Dodam's eyes looked impossibly clear, sparkling bright. Looking down into them, her own grew wet. I wanted to give her a birthday table, at least.
It had been eleven months and three days since Dodam had come to her home. If she could just hold on a little longer, it would be a full year. She had planned to lay out a beautiful birthday spread. A little party hat. Gold and silver balloons on the wall that read Happy Birthday, Our Dodam. That had been the plan. She felt the ache of it. The disappointment.
Then Dodam's breathing grew ragged.
Hah, hah, hah...
If this turned into coughing, Dodam would be in real trouble. Every single cough took everything she had. If only I'd brought you home a little sooner. Dodam, why didn't you come to this mom a little earlier? If she hadn't been so anxious, if she'd been able to rest easy, if she'd gotten treatment sooner... then she would be toddling around right now. Maybe even bounding and hopping.
Na Haram looked down at her with eyes from which regret dripped, and tried to lay the dog in her arms back onto the bedding. Or rather—she tried to. Dodam's pupils trembled. She didn't want that.
"Okay, okay. I'll stay just like this."
As she said it, looking at her, the corner of Dodam's mouth lifted. Just slightly. The faintest of smiles—the same smile Dodam had shown when she had first come home with her.
Perhaps that was why everything from the day she'd first met Dodam unfurled before Na Haram's eyes like a panorama.
Their first meeting had been a photograph on a shelter website. Beneath a caption that said she was looking for a family, a small dog sat crouched, her eyes full of melancholy.
Breed: Maltese
Estimated Age: 12 years
Spayed · Weight: 3.1 kg
There had been a few other details, but what leaped out at Na Haram was the notice period. Three days left. If no family was found before it ran out, the little dog would not be allowed to go on living.
She's a little old, but why hasn't such a cute little thing been adopted? The thought had barely formed before she understood. Ah. She's a sick child.
Na Haram had picked up her phone at once, made the call, and gone to the shelter. And just as she'd guessed, the Maltese was ill. Heart disease—serious enough that they estimated she didn't have long.
She had begun the adoption process immediately. When she said she wanted to take home an old, sick dog, the shelter staff were grateful, and puzzled. But once they heard her reasons, they understood, and they were grateful.
"I don't know how much time she has left," she had told them, "but I want to give her peace of mind for whatever remains. I want her to close her eyes carrying good memories, and go to the Dog Star."
Na Haram had brought the Maltese home and named her Dodam—a wish that she would be well, and healthy, and free of trouble. Perhaps it was the name. Dodam had done better than anyone expected. She took her medicine well. She ate well. One month passed, then two, then three... and so they had arrived at now.
But it seemed they had reached the limit. Dodam's breathing grew even more labored.
Hah, hah... hah.
"Dodam..."
She stroked her as she called the name, softly. She simply wanted to say it. She wanted Dodam to hear her own name. And so she kept calling it, holding her, stroking her head. And inwardly, she prayed. Please. Please don't let Dodam close her eyes when she's alone. Please...
That Dodam's time was nearly gone was obvious. Then at least—please—don't let this timid, tender girl close her eyes alone. Holding her gently, that was what Na Haram wished.
And that night.
Eh, ehh...!
Dodam called to her. Still in a voice without strength. But Na Haram knew. She knew Dodam was in terrible pain. That this sound was a scream, because it hurt too much.
"My Dodam. Yes, yes. It hurts, doesn't it?"
That was all she could say. Dodam already had a pain patch on. There was nothing more to give her.
Perhaps she had heard her voice. The corner of Dodam's mouth lifted. She was smiling. Heh-heh.
Na Haram's chest truly felt as though it would tear. It hurts, so why are you smiling? Even smiling must be hard... Dodam, her brow deeply furrowed, smiling only with her mouth—Na Haram found it almost too pitiful to bear.
The pain was so severe she could feel it even through the patch. And still, when she looked at her, she smiled. Simply because seeing her made her happy. Because she was grateful. Na Haram understood that heart all too well. Ah... Dodam...
Rain fell inside Na Haram. A downpour, lashing and relentless. Hiding the grief, the ache, the feeling that her chest might rip apart, she opened her mouth.
"Dodam, you don't have to. It hurts."
Don't try so hard... If it hurts, it's okay to say it hurts. She stroked her as she pleaded inwardly. Dodam, rest easy now. Go to the Dog Star. Go to the Dog Star where it doesn't hurt. Go and run as much as you want. Play with your friends. All right? Don't hurt anymore.
She stroked and stroked Dodam's forehead, already so glossy from all the petting. Please, don't let it hurt anymore.
Then, suddenly, something touched Na Haram's palm. Dodam's tiny front paw, reaching her hand. Dodam, who hadn't been able to move at all for days, had reached out to touch her.
"Do... Dodam..."
And then Dodam smiled—wide, fully, truly. Not the grimacing smile of a moment before. A real, open smile. A smile on her mouth. A smile in her eyes.
She smiled like that for the briefest span of time. And then—
Hooo...
She let out a long breath. It was her last.
"Hhk, hhhk, Do... Dodam..."
Only then did Na Haram weep without holding back. The woman who had hidden every feeling for fear it would hurt Dodam's heart now cried as much as she needed.
"Hhk, hhhk hhhk, you've been through so much. It won't hurt anymore. My Dodam. My Dodam... when you get there, don't be in pain. Okay?"
Affection—the love two beings have for each other—is not always proportional to the time spent together. Dodam and Na Haram had shared less than a year. But that time had been immeasurably precious, and happy.
"My cute Dodam, my pretty Dodam, thank you. Thank you for coming to this mom. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't come get you sooner..."
And that was how Na Haram sent Dodam on her way.
Two months after sending Dodam off, Na Haram went to a gathering with her friends.
"I heard," one of them said. "It must have been so hard."
"Yeah. Well. It was."
At that, another friend spoke up.
"Dodam went having received so much of your love. She'll be grateful."
"..."
Na Haram couldn't answer. She still missed Dodam too much. Her friends looked at her and let out short sighs, then opened their mouths again, trying to change the subject.
"Sujin adopted a dog, you know."
"She did?"
"Yeah. He's just turned one, and nobody would take him, so..." Lee Sujin beamed. "You have no idea how adorable our Heemangi is. His coat is this deep, rich red, and his smile is just beautiful."
You could feel from her face how much she adored him.
"That's wonderful. Sujin, you really did a good thing. Heemangi—that's a lovely name, too."
Na Haram congratulated her friend with genuine warmth.
"Now that he's home with us, he's meant to live with hope. It's been two weeks since Heemangi came to our house, you know? He's completely settled in. He's so full of affection, honestly. I don't understand why such a cute, loving boy couldn't get adopted."
Lee Sujin grinned as she showed off her newly adopted dog. Watching her, a small smile tugged at Na Haram's lips. She was glad a friend who hadn't particularly liked animals was raising a dog—and gladder still that she'd brought him home from a shelter.
"He was waiting to meet you, Sujin. Waiting to go live at your house."
"...I think so. Heemangi was the one who just leaped out at me."
I was the same. As Na Haram drifted back to the first time she'd seen Dodam online, Lee Sujin went on.
"It's thanks to you, Haram. If it weren't for you, I never would have thought of bringing Heemangi home from the shelter. Our Heemangi's legs hurt, you know. He's having surgery next week, though."
"They said he wasn't getting adopted because both his legs had rotated inward," another friend added from the side.
"I'm so glad. Sujin, you really did such a good thing."
"Well... the amazing one is our Heemangi, who grew up so bright even while being in that much pain."
Lee Sujin ducked her head a little, looking bashful, then continued.
"I'm just so happy he can have the surgery. Two animal hospitals turned us down."
"Turned you down? For surgery?"
"Yeah. Both places said his legs would be too difficult to operate on. I was thinking of trying a university veterinary hospital when a friend of my mom's heard about it and recommended a clinic. She said it's a hospital that's exceptional at surgery. So that's where we're going."
"It's called Mongmong Animal Hospital. You know it too, right, Haram? The director there?"
"Of course I know him. How could I not? Heemangi's so lucky, thanks to you, Sujin. He won't be in pain anymore. He might even be able to run."
When Na Haram praised her friend for adopting Heemangi, the others all spoke up at once to praise Na Haram.
"This is all thanks to you. If it weren't for you, Haram, how would any of us have known about the kids at the shelter?"
"Right? I didn't even have any interest in animals at all. And now I've got a friend I couldn't live without."
This from a friend who, under Na Haram's influence, had adopted a cat from a shelter. The friend sitting right beside Na Haram picked up the thread.
"That's true. Me, her—all of us started raising dogs and cats thanks to you, Haram."
This was the friend who had adopted a black-and-white dog whose shelter listing had been about to expire, and become a pet guardian herself.
"Haram, you're not thinking about it yet?"
Lee Sujin, the one who had just adopted Heemangi, asked carefully.
"Not yet..."
Not yet meant she would adopt again someday—but not now. Her friends nodded.
"Well, you did so much for Dodam, didn't you?"
So of course the grief would be huge. That was what they meant.
"And not only Dodam. You did right by Neulbom before that, too. And Eundong, and Sol-i—you took such, such good care of every one of them."
"That's true. Honestly, I didn't understand her. But once I started raising one myself, I got it. I understood what kind of heart she had when she adopted those kids."
"Anyway, it's amazing. I understand, but honestly, I don't think I could do it the way Haram does."
After sending her original companion dog to the Dog Star, Na Haram had begun adopting elderly dogs like Dodam and caring for them. One year after that first goodbye, she had gone on a volunteer trip from her company to an abandoned-animal shelter. And there she had met an old dog who wasn't being adopted. A dog no one paid any attention to. Looking at him, Na Haram had thought of the companion who had left her side.
From then on, she had brought home elderly dogs and cared for them. That was how it had begun, and Dodam had been the fourth.
"It just kind of happened that way."
"Still, it's incredible."
"It is. You're truly amazing. As if that's some easy thing?"
It had been hard. Not the caring. The partings had been too hard. The grief of each goodbye had grown heavier than when she'd first sent Neulbom off. With Neulbom, she had found meaning in the fact that he hadn't gone alone—that he had gone to the Dog Star having received love. But the weight on her heart had been growing, little by little.
That didn't mean she wanted to stop. Even now, how many animals like Dodam were there? But not now. Not yet. She still hadn't climbed out of the grief, or the guilt.
Thinking that, Na Haram came home, turned on her computer, and opened a portal site. Then she found her way to a page she had been deliberately avoiding. Perhaps it was because of her friend's story. She didn't know the exact reason. Either way, an abandoned-animal site spread across the screen.
And Na Haram's eyes grew wider and wider.