The Gatekeeper's Story (2)
The one that came into view was identical to the dog in the footage the PD had shown me. It had only been yesterday's video; anything else would have been stranger still.
And he really was standing watch over the apartment entrance, every bit the gatekeeper.
More precisely, it wasn't the main gate the cars used. He had planted himself at the passage made for people.
Gatekeeper or not, he wasn't actually stopping anyone.
No — if anything, he seems glad to see them.
Each time someone passed through, he reacted for just a moment. A tail that swayed, barely. Ears that pricked. The trouble was that the instant he'd confirmed who it was, he went right back to his original pose, still as a statue.
"As you can see, that dog has been holding that spot for about three weeks now. He isn't harming anyone around him, but if you try to force him somewhere else, he puts up a serious fight."
"Really? He looks pretty gentle from here."
"That's what people thought at first, so they approached him easily enough. Turns out they were wrong. He looks like a mixed breed, so we can't pin down the exact breed right now, but just going by his build, he's a large dog."
The PD added that the dog was strong as an ox, and I nodded.
He looked a little gaunt, but the solid frame characteristic of a large breed hadn't gone anywhere. If he decided he didn't want to be dragged off and put some strength into it, hauling one or two people along with him wouldn't have been all that hard. And once you'd felt that strength even once, casually deciding to drag him off by force stopped being an easy thought.
"The apartment management said that if we hadn't decided to film, they were going to report him. And once that happened, it's not hard to picture what would become of him."
"Yeah..."
The PD was right. If someone called the district office or emergency services and he was sent to a shelter for abandoned animals, he'd be looked after for a set period — but if more time passed than that, he could be put down.
The moment my thoughts went that far, I strode straight toward him. Supreme Rank Awakened Individual or not, I couldn't look after every abandoned animal in the country. That didn't mean I could turn my back on the one right in front of me. I'd come here to settle his story in the first place.
"Ah! Master... oh. You're not."
As I came up beside him, he lit up for an instant and his tail whirred. But the moment he got a proper look at me, that joy vanished. Ears drooping, tail gone slack — it was plain enough that he didn't like what he saw.
"Are you looking for your owner here?"
"Oh...?! You can understand me!"
He looked startled at the question. Right. A human he could actually talk to. A first for him, too.
The dog who had been sitting motionless like a gatekeeper, once he realized we could communicate, started circling me round and round. I caught him gently. He kept spinning, and I was getting dizzy just watching.
"Enough spinning. The reason you're sitting here like this — you're looking for your owner?"
"That's right! Master walked me every single day! Around this time?"
"Ah..."
I let out a small sigh. Hearing him, I was sure he'd been abandoned — cast off by his owner, yet unable to forget them, coming back to look. Remembering even the hour they used to walk, waiting where they used to go.
Poor thing...
His behavior filled me with pity. But that thought of mine was far too hasty a guess.
"But I don't think this is Master's house. It looks exactly the same, but... it's subtly different, you know?"
"You don't think this is it?"
"That's the feeling I get. Actually, I went out to play with Master and we got separated. I managed to make it somewhere that looked like home, but... this isn't it."
"You got separated while you were out playing?"
"Yeah! I was having so much fun running around that Master disappeared, you know? Master even took my leash off, so I played way too hard, hehe..."
"..."
All I could do was drag a dry hand down my face. So he wasn't some abandoned stray after all. He was a lost dog who'd played so hard he'd lost his owner.
The PD, who'd been watching me, sidled over and started asking what was going on. I gave a short laugh, looked into the camera, and told them the dog's story — that he wasn't a stray, and that the whole thing had started because an overly energetic dog had played hard enough to lose his owner.
"That's... a pretty absurd reason."
"Right? And he even came here because it looks as much like home as possible. This is a branded apartment complex, isn't it? There are similar ones not just nationwide, but several right here in Busan, so he must have gotten them mixed up."
At my words the camera slid sideways and took in the complex. I watched the brand name, stamped bold across the building's outer wall, fill the lens.
"Sir. I've heard that dogs have a homing instinct, though. Why couldn't this one find his way home?"
"Speaking of homing instinct — I remember reading that dogs don't actually have one. An individual that wanders a lot and learns the lay of the land can find its way home, but if it hasn't, it can't."
"Wait, really?"
"Well... I only saw the results of a simple experiment. Not a proper study or a paper."
I answered with a shrug. That experiment had found that the dogs who actually made it home were only a little over ten percent of the total. That alone was enough to see that dogs don't truly have a homing instinct.
The PD made a note, as if weighing whether to include that part in the broadcast, and went on.
"Sir. Would you be able to help us find this little one's owner?"
"Gladly."
I nodded. Helping him find his owner was something I could do without a second thought. I crouched and gently stroked the ownerless dog.
"I'll help you get home."
"Really?!"
The moment he understood me, he lit up and tackled me. A large dog coming at me with a full-body tackle had a considerable amount of force behind it. However underfed and a little gaunt he was, a large dog's strength and weight don't simply disappear.
"Guh—!"
I went down with a short yelp, and he climbed on top of me and started licking my face. He was heavy enough that I had to thrash to push him off. He wasn't trying to hurt me — it was joy — so a light shove was enough to send him tumbling back.
Ugh. I'm soaked.
I wiped the slobber smeared all over my face and calmed him down.
"Hey. You need to remember how big you are."
"Ehehe!"
I pressed lightly on his head and ruffled him roughly, meaning to scold him, but he only looked bright and innocent, too happy at the thought of seeing his owner to care. His tail was no tail at all — more a broom, sweeping the ground at tremendous speed.
"First things first. Do you remember where you were when you were playing with your owner?"
"Uh... I don't know. Actually, we went there by car!"
"By car?"
"Yeah! We took the car every time we went!"
At that, it occurred to me that this might be getting complicated. If they'd come by car, he might have lived in a completely different area. Finding the owner would become very hard. But that was no reason to give up.
"Do you happen to remember what the place looked like?"
"Hmm..."
He thought for a moment, then told me what he remembered.
"It was huge! I ran until I was exhausted and still never reached the end! And there were lots of human kids. Uh... there was a pond with fish, too..."
It didn't seem like he'd only been once or twice. He rattled off everything he knew about the place, and the moment I heard it I pulled out my phone and checked the map.
"I think this is where he got separated from his owner."
Looking over the area, I was able to pin the spot down. It wasn't far, and there was only one place where a large dog could run himself to exhaustion, where there was a pond, and where children came in droves.
"Busan Citizens Park?"
"I asked him to describe the place where he got separated from his owner, and he told me in a lot of detail."
"Ohh..."
The PD marveled for a moment, then immediately started preparing to move. The crew burst into motion, and I took the dog and climbed into the van ahead of them.
Come to think of it, I still don't even know his name.
Used to riding, apparently — he plastered himself flat to the van floor. I gave his head a light pat and asked his name.
"My name is Mungchi!"
Maybe from the excitement of meeting his owner, Mungchi wagged furiously inside the van. Fur came blasting into view, puff after puff. I had no choice but to quietly crack the van's side window.
"We're heading out!"
Somewhere between learning Mungchi's name and opening the window, the move had been made ready, and the vehicle slowly began to roll. Wind poured through the narrowly opened window, and fresh air struck my face. I like animals well enough, but staring at fur blasting out like that, I was badly in need of it. At any rate, while I was breathing it in, we soon arrived at Busan Citizens Park.
We pulled into the parking lot and got out, and Mungchi launched himself from the van as if he'd been fired from it.
"Here! This is the place!"
Whether because the place he'd lost his owner had left such a strong impression, Mungchi started bouncing the moment his paws hit the ground. The expectation — he was finally going to see his owner — was unmistakable.
If we don't find them, this is going to be bad...
Watching him, I couldn't help but worry. We'd come all the way to the citizens' park on the promise of finding his owner, and I couldn't begin to imagine how he'd take it if we failed. But the worry turned out to be a useless one.
A flyer sat in a corner of the parking lot, a large photo fixed to it — one that made me think, if the Mungchi beside me put on a little more weight, he might look just like that. Maybe because a caretaker came through regularly, cleaning and tearing the notices down, there was only the one, stuck in an out-of-the-way spot. If we hadn't parked in the corner to fit two vans side by side, we might never have found it.
The PD, who'd read the flyer along with me, called it a relief and stepped aside so the cameraman could film it.
"I'll make the call. We don't know if we'll be able to use it, but I want to record the conversation with the owner."
Having stepped aside, the PD stopped me as I was pulling out my phone. He'd said he'd handle it himself, and I had no reason to refuse. I nodded and shoved the phone back into my pocket.
The PD dialed the number on the flyer and began the call, saying they had Mungchi in their care. The conversation, opened with that news, was over almost at once.
"The owner is overjoyed. Enough to say they'll come right now."
As if to prove the joyful promise wasn't a lie, we'd been playing lightly with Mungchi for a little over twenty minutes when an SUV came racing toward us. It parked haphazardly near where we stood, and a middle-aged man climbed out and came hurrying toward us, out of breath. And matching him, Mungchi, at my side, took off at a sprint.
"Mungchi—ack—guh!"
Running full tilt, Mungchi slammed straight into the man, who rolled across the ground several times with a bizarre noise. He didn't seem to feel the pain at all. Laughing as if he couldn't be happier, he pulled Mungchi into his arms and tumbled around on the ground with him.
"You little troublemaker!"
Ah. So Mungchi was that Mungchi — Sagomungchi.