Chapter 10: The Choice Lies with the Guardian
“Choco's owner, I'd like to have a private chat with Choco. Would you mind stepping away for a moment? Reina, you too, please keep a little distance.”
Choco's owner and Reina moved back from their spots, and the cameras were now filming us from afar with zoom lenses.
I sidled up to Choco and said,
“Choco, I'm a veterinarian who helps friends like you when your body hurts or your heart aches.”
No reaction, as expected.
I quickly shifted my position to angle my back to the cameras, then whispered so softly only Choco could hear.
“Choco, is it because you don't like your name? What's wrong with being called Choco?”
—Uh, no... Who the heck are you? How do you understand dog speak?
Hearing a dog call it “dog speak” felt oddly amusing.
But I kept my surprise hidden and continued.
“I told you, I'm your vet teacher. It's not that you're sick somewhere, it's the name...”
Just then, one of the camera crew approached and whispered,
“Director, sorry, but could you look to the side and speak a bit louder...”
I scrunched my face dramatically and pressed a finger to my lips.
“Shh! I'm in the middle of an exam right now. The patient's treatment comes before filming! I need to examine them closely, so please don't talk to me.”
“Ah... sorry.”
I silently apologized to the crew as they backed away with sheepish expressions.
But there was no other way.
I couldn't exactly reveal that I could talk to animals.
Dogs have hearing four times sharper than humans.
I spoke even softer, barely audible to myself.
“Tell me, Choco. Is it really because you hate your name?”
—Whoa, this is wild. First person who's ever understood dog speak.
Choco, who had been frozen like a statue, perked up at my words and waddled over from the cushion.
“Oh my gosh, Ch-Choco! Choco's coming over first! That's never happened before!”
Choco's owner gasped in excitement at the sight.
By now, the cameras were probably all zoomed in on the owner.
Time to have a real talk with Choco.
“Choco, this isn't the time to be surprised. If something's bothering you or you don't like it, you need to say it clearly. I don't have much time here.”
Choco waddled right up to me, tail spinning like a windmill in curiosity.
—There's only one thing I don't like. My name!
“What's wrong with your name? It's super cute.”
—...Cute? Did you just say cute?
Was “cute” the trigger word?
Choco's stubby tail had been wagging briskly until then, but now his nose wrinkled and he started growling low.
The crew and owner looked on anxiously, wondering what was happening.
—You said you're the vet teacher, right? Think about it. How would you feel if your name was Kim Cyanide? I almost died from eating chocolate by mistake!
‘Kim Cyanide... yeah, that's crossing a line.’
Who knew people casually naming their pets could hit like that...
It was such an unexpected reason that bewilderment washed over me.
But my job as a vet wasn't just fixing physical ailments—it was healing their hearts too.
“Hmm... that must've been tough. So, ever since that near-death chocolate incident, you've hated the name Choco?”
Choco lifted his head as if nodding emphatically.
—Exactly! How could I like it? I barely survived accidental cyanide, and now my name's Kim Cyanide?
Choco growled like a bitter laugh and went on.
—Even in my dreams, that chocolate nightmare haunts me, and then Mom and Dad and bro go “Kim Cyanide~ Cyanide~” all day. Who'd want that? I hate hearing it so much I hide in my room. No one gets how stressed I am! Bro just teases me!
As Choco yapped on, his owner behind me was already tearing up with emotion.
‘Our Choco's finally responding to people!’
The longer this chat dragged, the worse it'd get.
Time for a solution.
I called Choco again in a calm tone.
“Choco, if we change your name, you'll eat well, go on walks nicely, and stop stressing Mom out?”
—Of course! So please tell Mom to change it!
A name is like your face—it represents you.
If your reflection in the mirror horrified you, you'd spiral into stress and depression.
And being called Choco all day? No wonder he was suffering.
“Alright, let's do that. Do you have a name you want?”
At my words, Choco's tail spun even faster, like a helicopter revving up.
—Alexander Caesar!
Alexander the Great, ruler of Macedonia, and Rome's first emperor, Caesar.
Why did this tiny toy poodle need such a grandiose name? I couldn't wrap my head around it.
But one thing was clear: even if I could understand animals and was a vet...
There was no convincing Choco's owner to use Alexander Caesar.
I swallowed dryly.
Then continued naturally.
“Cool name. What about something else?”
—No way. I want to be called Alexander Caesar.
His tone reminded me of the chart I'd seen before the exam: he was three years old.
Kids, human or animal, could be stubbornly set in their ways.
“Is there a reason you want that name specifically?”
—Yeah, 'cause I like it. Sounds so cool. “Alexander Caesar, dinner time!” “Alexander Caesar, walkies!” Awesome, right?
We were communicating, but going nowhere.
One certainty: no Korean owner would name their dog Alexander Caesar.
“Choco, purely from a human perspective...”
—Yeah?
“Owners never call their pets super long names.”
—Why not?
“Think about it. You're on a walk with Mom and catch a weird scent. You get excited and bolt, right?”
—Yeah?
“But your leash snaps. And you're running right by an eight-lane highway.”
Choco's wildly spinning tail began to slow, losing momentum.
A sign he was listening intently.
I kept whispering, but with firm resolve.
“In that panic, could your mom easily yell ‘Alexander Caesar!’? Think it'd work?”
Even a six-month-old pup could get that.
But Choco was tough-minded.
—Probably not! But isn't the name more for the dog hearing it? It's my name—why can't it be what I want?
Being logically outmaneuvered by a dog—what a twist.
And we'd already spent ages on this unheard conversation.
Dragging it out more might look suspicious.
Plus, if I couldn't give name-change-craving Choco a real fix for his grudge, it'd end badly for him, the owner, and the show.
Time to persuade, even if it meant risking dog speak slipping out.
I called Choco calmly again.
“Choco. No matter how much you want it, Mom has to call you that. You gotta compromise a bit.”
—Compromise? What do you mean?
“Like using just Alexander or just Caesar...”
—No! I want both!
One reason I loved animals: not hearing their voices.
And now that reason was crumbling.
I held back my frustration and explained patiently.
“Choco, the world doesn't always go your way. How about taking letters from Alexander and Caesar?”
—Hmm... yeah, that works. Like Alka or Sansa?
“Exactly! Let's go with that.”
—Hold on, let me think.
Bowing low like greeting elders felt awkward—for me and the crew filming from behind.
Then Choco spoke with grave determination.
—Decided. My new name.
I waited silently as Choco revealed his hard-thought choice.
‘...Why this name of all things.’
Hearing Choco's new name candidate plunged me back into despair.
Short, snappy, catchy.
But no way it was better than Alexander Caesar.
Oblivious to my turmoil, Choco spun his tail wildly in excitement.
—What do you think? Cool, right? I love it! I'll take that one! Tell Mom quick!
If only I had more time.
That would've been perfect.
“...Alright. I'll mention it.”
Now the choice was up to the owner.
After the private chat with Choco,
I ran a simple demo test for the owner.
Then came the toughest part:
Framing it so Choco seemed to want a name change.
Having heard my explanation, the owner mirrored my conflicted expression.
“...S-So, Choco wants a name change?”
“If I translate it to human terms, yeah. Like in the test just now—even pretending I had imaginary chocolate in my hand made Choco tremble with extreme anxiety and have an accident.”
“Right... Choco doesn't usually have accidents... I was so shocked.”
No wonder.
I'd signaled him to fake it.
“Choco's smarter than you realize. He knows exactly what's good or bad for him. Being called a name tied to poisonous chocolate is huge stress for him.”
“I can barely believe it. We've seen so many vets, but this solution's a first...”
Even I felt my face heat up saying it.
What I'd done today was iffy as “vet work” by any stretch.
But I was a pro.
And Choco and I were perfectly synced.
To viewers, it might seem weird, but if our act landed right, the broadcast wouldn't look off.
Whether real medicine or placebo, results matter most.
I continued with resolve.
“If routine treatments worked, Choco would've improved already. My solution's clear: change the name, and he'll get better for sure.”
“If you say so, Director... Hmm, what should we name him? Lovebug? Or Star?”
I shook my head.
“No, let Choco choose the name.”
“Choco chooses? How...?”
“There's definitely a name he'll respond to. Try them one by one slowly—it'll work. Shall we go do it together?”
“Y-Yes.”
Choco's owner approached with a hesitant look.
She started reciting names to the limp, motionless Choco on the cushion.
“Choco, Mom's giving you a new name. How about Lovebug? Or Star?”
“Ma'am, no need for chit-chat—just list the names straight.”
Whatever she said wouldn't be picked anyway.
I just needed the timing.
“Coco, Barley, Jake, Happy, Fluffy...”
Like chanting a prayer, the owner kept going.
I'd hoped faintly she'd say it, but no dice.
Couldn't be helped.
Time for my assist.
As she diligently recited rejects, I casually turned to the crew like it was a slip-up.
“By the way, is it okay to leave the car parked outside so long? I think there's a time limit for outside vehicles.”
One cameraman gestured at his camera: We're rolling, Director.
It was staged, but I played sorry like I'd goofed on air.
“Oh, sorry. Hope it doesn't get towed...”
Woof! Woofwoofwoof!
Dogs hear four times better than humans.
Choco—no, Reka—bravely barked at my signal.