Becoming a 'Real' Owner
In the taxi, Som was slumped limply in my arms. Her small, powerless body burned like a ball of fire. The tiny heartbeat pressed against my chest raced faster and shallower than usual, each frantic thump hammering against my ribs like the pounding of my own guilt.
“Just hold on a little longer, Som,” I whispered. My voice shook terribly.
The 24-hour animal hospital felt farther away than I expected. Or maybe it only seemed that way. Every single minute and second dragged on like an eternity. With my forehead against the cold window, I prayed over and over inside my head. Please. Please let it be nothing serious.
The sharp scent of disinfectant stung my nose, and Som trembled faintly from the anxiety of this unfamiliar place.
When the vet lifted her and carried her into the examination room, I couldn’t bring myself to follow. I collapsed onto a chair in the hallway. From beyond the closed door came Som’s faint, whimpering cries. The sound tore my heart to shreds.
How much time passed, I couldn’t say. The examination room door finally opened and the vet stepped out. I shot up from my seat.
“It looks like a high fever and indigestion caused by acute stress. Has anything happened recently that might have frightened the puppy or caused her significant stress?”
At that question, I couldn’t lift my head. The image of myself yelling at Som last night flashed vividly before my eyes. The way she had backed away in terror, tail tucked between her legs, body shaking. In the end, it was my anger, my stupidity, that had made her sick.
“…Will she be okay?” The words I barely managed to squeeze out came out cracked and pathetic.
“Yes, fortunately it’s not serious. We’ll give her a shot and some medication. If you take good care of her at home, she should recover quickly.”
The vet smiled, but I couldn’t return it. While Som received the injection, she let out a sharp, piercing yelp. I stroked her head and whispered desperately, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”
As the vet handed me the bag of medicine, he added, “Dogs are incredibly sensitive to their owner’s emotions. Especially a sensitive one like her. Make sure to hold her a lot and keep your voice gentle.”
Those words didn’t feel like a dagger—they felt like a heavy iron weight crushing down on me.
When we got home, I carefully set Som down on her cushion. I mixed the white powder from the medicine into her food and placed the bowl in front of her, but she only turned her head away.
“Som, you have to eat to get better.”
She glanced at me once, then lowered her head again. That empty look in her eyes seemed to say, This is all your fault, and it felt like my heart was being ripped apart.
I picked up a single kibble with my fingers and held it to her mouth. “Please, Som. I’m sorry. Okay?”
I stayed there on my knees for a long time. Then, very slowly, Som opened her mouth. She carefully pushed the kibble in with the tip of her tongue.
“Good girl…” My voice trembled.
One piece. Then another. I fed her as if handling fragile glass, and only after a long while did she finally close her eyes again.
That night, I slept beside Som. Not on the bed, but on the cold floor. I laid out a thin blanket next to her cushion and lay down there. After hurting her the way I had, I didn’t deserve to sleep somewhere warmer or higher than her. This wasn’t nursing—it was my clumsy way of atoning.
I closed my eyes, only to wake again in the middle of the night. Something damp and warm was tickling the back of my hand.
“Som?”
She looked up at me, wagging her tail ever so faintly. It wasn’t her usual wild propeller wag—just a weak little movement, like a sign that she was still alive.
“Are you… feeling better now?”
I carefully lifted her into my arms. She buried her face in my chest and let out a small, relieved sigh. It wasn’t resentment. It was forgiveness. That tiny warmth, that silent comfort, finally broke down every dam inside me.
The next morning, the cold from the floor seeped into my back and I realized I had stayed up all night with my eyes open. With trembling fingers, I touched the tip of my nose. It was damp and cold. Even my eyes had regained a faint spark of life.
“Som, let’s eat.”
This time, she approached the bowl first. Slowly but deliberately, she began to eat the kibble. Crunch. Crunch. In the empty room, that sound was more beautiful than any music in the world.
“Good job, my Som.”
While eating, she looked up at me once and gave her tail the smallest wag. That single little movement seemed to lift some of the crushing weight of guilt that had pressed on me all night.
That day, I didn’t leave her side for a single moment. I hesitated briefly, thinking about my part-time job, but then picked up my phone.
> “Boss… I don’t think I can come in today. My dog is sick.”
> [Is it bad?]
> “No, she’s starting to get better now.”
> [Then that’s what matters. Don’t worry about the shop. Take your time and come back when you can. The kid’s health comes first.]
My throat tightened. That ordinary reassurance somehow felt like it was holding together the fragile parts of me that had been shaking all night.
Several days passed. As Som regained her energy and started emptying her bowl faster, a subtle new current began to flow between us. Whenever I moved, her eyes followed. If I closed the bathroom door, a shadow would linger just beyond the gap at the bottom. Over the sound of the shower, I’d hear her scratching at the door and whimpering desperately. The moment I stepped out, she would rush toward me like we’d been apart for years and throw herself into my arms. That exaggerated welcome had become strangely familiar.
One evening, I was watching an idol video on YouTube. Som, who had been lying quietly under the sofa, suddenly jumped onto my lap. Without hesitation, she shoved her little head between my phone screen and my face.
“Hey, I can’t see.”
When I tried to move her aside, she burrowed in even harder and whined. She even let out a low growl at the smiling female idol on the screen.
“Are you… jealous right now?”
Instead of answering, Som just looked at me and wagged her tail. A helpless laugh escaped me.
“Okay, okay. I won’t watch.”
The moment I set the phone down, Som rested her chin on my knee with a satisfied expression. What was I supposed to do with this strange, adorable creature?
That night, as I lay in bed, Som climbed up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She settled herself right on top of my chest.
“Hey, you’re heavy.”
But Som didn’t budge. Instead, she burrowed deeper and pressed her nose against my neck.
“Why are you like this lately, seriously.”
Instead of answering, she let out a small, contented sigh. Yeah, well. This much weight was nothing. In fact, this small weight was the clearest proof that I was no longer alone.
I patted her back and drifted into a pleasant calm.
A week later, I returned to the cafe.
“Oh, Seung-ho! You’re back. Is your dog okay now?”
“Yes, she’s much better.”
“That’s a relief. Yu-ri kept asking about her too.”
At those words, I couldn’t turn my head. I averted my gaze toward the inside of the counter.
“Seung-ho.”
It was Yu-ri who spoke first. I bowed my head like a criminal.
When break time came, she approached me with a warm cup of coffee.
“Som’s doing a lot better? I’m so glad. I was worried for nothing.”
Her expression was genuinely relieved.
“About what happened last time, it’s really fine. The wound has healed completely. So please stop worrying about it.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Aish, you’re apologizing again.”
She looked at me for a moment, then smiled playfully.
“Instead, make me one promise. Like I said before, buy me a meal sometime. We’ll call it even with that.”
Yu-ri laughed brightly. That unpretentious smile seemed to lift some of the heavy guilt that had been weighing me down for the past week.
“Yes, I’ll definitely do that.”
“It’s a promise!”
When I got home, Som greeted me like she had won the whole world.
“Yeah, I missed you too.”
The moment I picked her up, she licked my face nonstop as if she’d been waiting for it. I sat on the sofa and placed her on my lap.
“Som. I’m so glad you’re here.”
She looked up at me. In those dark eyes, I saw my complete self reflected back. Instead of answering, Som burrowed deeper into my arms. We were no longer just me—it was us now.
Just then, white snowflakes began to fall silently outside the window. The first snow of the season.
“Som, it’s snowing.”
At my voice, Som opened her eyes halfway and looked out the window. She tilted her head curiously at the unfamiliar white world.
“Want to go out?”
She wagged her tail. I attached her leash and we stepped outside. The world had already put on a thin white coat. Som stopped for a moment in front of the pure white landscape. Then, very carefully, she took her first step.
Poof.
When her paw sank into the snow, she jumped back in surprise.
“It’s okay, it’s just snow.”
I crouched in front of her, scooped up a handful, and showed her. “It’s cold, right? But it’s fun.”
Som sniffed the snow in my hand, then cautiously licked it with her tongue. Startled by the cold, she jerked her head away. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Come on, let’s go.”
I walked slowly first, and Som followed cautiously behind. Crunch. Crunch. Only the sound of our footsteps filled the quiet street.
Once she got used to the snow, Som gradually picked up speed. Then suddenly she dashed out into the snowfield. Tiny paw prints scattered across the pure white canvas.
“Som, is it fun?”
Before I knew it, I was laughing like a child. Som came running toward me. She spun around at my feet, wagging her tail as if asking for more playtime.
I stood there for a long time, watching that small ball of white fur. The little being who was coloring my colorless world with her entire body.
“Som, come here.”
She ran over. I picked her up and brushed the snow off her paws with my hands, blowing warm breath on them. “Let’s go home.”
Holding Som in my arms, I headed back. Across the once-empty world, my footprints and Som’s tiny ones were now etched side by side.
I really… wasn’t alone anymore.