Regarding My Dog (1)

I woke up before the alarm could even sound. It was the still-unfamiliar warmth and weight beside me. Actually, it wasn’t warmth. Just… a different feeling. Something had changed.

When I lifted my head and looked around the room, Som was fast asleep on her cushion, curled up on top of my clothes. Her small belly rose and fell in a steady rhythm. A gentle heat spread through my chest.

Last night she had fallen asleep clutching the shirt that carried my scent. Now it seemed she needed that same shirt even in her own bed. I rose carefully, trying not to wake her. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, but Som sensed the movement and opened her eyes, gazing up at me.

She wagged her tail, circling my legs, then looked toward the front door and let out a soft whine. I hesitated, unsure what she wanted. Was she hungry? Did she need to go out? Then it hit me—walk. The perfectly obvious fact that dogs love morning walks had somehow slipped my mind until that exact moment. I picked up the leash hanging by the door, feeling clumsy and awkward in my own home.

I still had a long way to go.

The predawn air was colder than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I expected. Yet with the tiny creature trotting happily beside me, sniffing everything in sight, the chill didn’t bite as deeply. It was nothing like the empty, solitary mornings I used to walk alone. This one carried a clumsy but comforting quiet.

After we returned from our walk, I filled her bowl. Som dove in like she’d been starving for days. Watching her, I spoke without thinking.

“Eat slowly.”

Som glanced up at me. Embarrassed, I looked away. Still, the feeling wasn’t unpleasant.

A few days later a delivery box arrived. A home camera. Installation was simple. I plugged it in, synced the app, and suddenly the entire studio appeared on my phone screen. Now I could leave the house without worrying quite so much.

“I’ll be back. Look after the house, okay?”

I said the awkward goodbye in front of the door. The moment it clicked shut, I pressed my ear against it. Right on cue, the soft whining began. My heart ached. But I had made a decision. I forced myself to walk away.

Despite the resolve I’d left the house with, all I thought about while working at the café was Som. The moment my break started, I pulled out my phone and opened the home-cam app. The screen showed her sprawled asleep right in front of the door. She must have cried for a long time after I left, then collapsed from exhaustion.

The tiny figure looked so pitiful, yet a wave of relief washed over me. Without realizing it, I stroked the screen and murmured.

“Good girl…”

From then on, checking my phone whenever I had a spare moment became a new habit. Simply seeing that small life sleeping peacefully on the camera feed was enough to ease my mind.

“You must be doing all right these days. You look better.”

Chan-wook tossed the comment out during a meeting for the final stretch of our capstone project.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. You used to look like you were one bad day away from dropping dead. These days you actually seem… human.”

I smiled awkwardly. I hadn’t noticed the change myself, but maybe it was proof that something inside me was shifting, bit by bit.

That evening I headed home carrying the quiet relief of steady project progress. Just thinking about the little creature waiting behind the door brought a smile to my lips.

But when I reached the front door, I froze. A single white sticky note clung to the cold metal surface. My heart dropped like a stone. With shaking fingers I peeled it off.

The message was polite, yet the warning cut like a blade. I stood there stunned, as if someone had slapped me. My fingertips went ice cold.

As expected, I really can’t do this.

The familiar spiral of self-loathing wrapped around me like chains. My selfish loneliness had ended up hurting someone else. The hand gripping the doorknob wouldn’t stop trembling. I knew I had to open the door, but my body refused to move. Going inside meant facing Som’s happy greeting, and that suddenly terrified me. In that moment I couldn’t bear to look at her face.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Eventually a soft whine came from inside. She must have caught my scent. In the end I opened the door.

Som came running, tail wagging furiously. Seeing her pure, innocent joy while I clutched that note made my chest ache even worse. I sank to the floor right there. Som placed her front paws on my knee and licked my hand. The warm, damp touch pulled me back to reality.

“I’m sorry… Som. It’s all because I’m not enough.”

She stayed quietly in my arms. With her small body she breathed softly, as if trying to comfort me. As if telling me not to be sad.

There was no time to wallow. I had to fix this somehow. The old me would never have imagined taking action like this. With still-trembling hands I picked up my phone and opened a search window.

Dog barking training methods. Separation anxiety howling solutions.

Countless results flooded the screen. I had no idea which ones were actually useful. In ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the end I dialed Gomo.

“Gomo, I’m sorry. Som’s been barking and we got a complaint. What should I do?” My voice shook.

She was quiet for a moment, then spoke gently.

That night I wrote down every training method Gomo had suggested. Change my leaving routine. Buy nose-work toys to keep her from getting bored alone. Start with short periods of alone time and gradually increase them.

I trained desperately for days. We began with opening and closing the door, slowly lengthening the time I stayed outside. It wasn’t easy. Every time I stepped out, guilt crashed over me. But I didn’t stop.

Then one day Gomo came back to the studio.

“You really have changed a lot.”

She looked back and forth between the growing collection of dog supplies, Som sleeping peacefully among them, and my face—tired but noticeably firmer than before.

“Seung-ho, is it okay if I take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Som with me now?”

It wasn’t a simple question. It was the final test of my resolve.

I gently stroked Som’s back while she slept. All the trial and error of the past few days flashed through my mind. Without hesitation I looked up at Gomo.

“No, Gomo.”

My voice came out steadier than I expected.

“I’ll take responsibility for Som. She’s family to me now.”

Gomo was speechless for a moment. Then her eyes grew misty and she smiled brightly. She took my hand in both of hers, warm and gentle.

“I knew you’d say that, our Seung-ho…” Her voice was a little hoarse. “For the time being, you’re her real owner. Take good care of our Som, Seung-ho!”

The words real owner settled heavily in my heart—more meaningful than any other acknowledgment could have been. As she stepped out the door, Gomo added one last piece of advice, like a mother sending off her daughter.

“And Som… she likes to sleep under the desk sometimes. Don’t look for her too frantically when she does.”

She sounded exactly like a mother marrying off her child. The door closed with a solid click. This time the sound wasn’t empty. It was a bright signal announcing a new beginning.

I returned to the living room and dropped onto the sofa. All the tension in my body released at once. At that moment Som approached and rested her small chin on my knee. She simply looked up at me. Those dark eyes held nothing but complete trust and affection.

I slowly stroked her head. The room was still quiet. But I was no longer lonely. The soft breathing of this small living being filled every silence in my world.

We sat like that for a long time, sharing each other’s warmth. Before bed I washed up quickly. I thought Som was asleep on her cushion, but she had been waiting for me. When I lay down, she looked up with such longing that I lifted her onto the bed. She pressed herself tightly against my side.

Lying in bed with someone else—something I could never have imagined in the past.

Before falling asleep I reached for my phone out of habit. I opened YouTube and played a new girl-group performance that had dropped a few days earlier. Bright lights and upbeat music softly filled the room. Not long after the video started, I heard a small whine.

When I looked down, Som was staring straight at me. Was she tired? I thought nothing of it and turned back to the screen. Then Som stood up completely, pawing at my arm. She even tried to push her little head between my hand and the phone.

Did she want to play?

I chuckled and turned the video off.

“Okay, okay. I’ll play with you.”

The moment the screen went black, Som stopped whining as if nothing had happened and rested her chin on my knee. She looked only at me now, not the phone. Those dark eyes seemed to hold a quiet satisfaction.

Strange. Is she just bored?

As usual, her whining woke me. The morning routine was becoming familiar now.

“All right, all right. Let’s go.”

I clipped on the leash and opened the door. Som bounded ahead, tail wagging with excitement. Walking around the neighborhood while breathing in the crisp, chilly air was a strange but pleasant daily ritual I could never have imagined even a short while ago.

We had been walking for some time when a woman jogging toward us passed by with a light smile. That was when it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠happened.

“Grrrr…”

Som, who had been sticking close to my leg, suddenly stiffened. A low growl rumbled from her throat.

“Som, what’s wrong?”

I looked down in surprise. She was staring after the woman with sharp, wary eyes. It felt different from the time she had barked at another dog on our last walk—quieter, more intense.

What is it? Is she just afraid of strangers?

I shrugged and kept walking. But the strange behavior continued. Som wagged her tail at an old woman on a bench, yet every time a woman around my age walked by, she reacted with clear hostility. It was as if she were facing a rival invading her territory.

Back home, while I wiped her paws, I thought about everything that had happened that morning—and the night before with the girl-group video. She only reacted that way to women my age.

No way.

I let out a small laugh. A dog feeling jealousy toward people? She was probably just shy around strangers. That had to be it.