Chapter 40: The Fact Tofu Doesn't Know
Is this what they mean by "tragic from afar, comedic up close"?
Dragging the hefty Sapsali-Jindo mix Tofu along on a walk had the reporter sweating bullets, even in the dead of winter.
What the hell...?
My face twisted into an increasingly bizarre expression as I watched.
"Aigoo, Grandma's really struggling here. Come on, get up already. Huh?"
—Hehe, just a bit more. I'm helping too, you know.
That's right. Tofu was literally helping with the walk.
Swoosh—scrape—
It wasn't so much Tofu walking as the reporter doing CrossFit.
Every time the reporter grunted and tugged, Tofu pushed off the ground with his hind legs like a PT trainer yelling "One more!"
And on top of that.
Whish. Whish.
Tofu would flip his body mid-drag like he was flipping a pancake to adjust direction, looking for all the world like he was not only assisting the reporter's walk(?) but also taking meticulous care of his own body in the process.
"No... ma'am. Do you always walk him like this? Isn't it exhausting?"
"Whew, of course it is. But if I don't drag him, he won't go on walks at all. As you can see, he loves them too much."
"......"
Just as the reporter said, Tofu—possessed by that PT trainer spirit—was thoroughly enjoying himself.
—Hehe. Grandma could go faster if she tried! Is it 'cause you're getting old? Why are you slowing down more and more?
Tofu, spouting some downright unfilial nonsense, stuck out his tongue and grinned ear to ear.
Even a kid seeing a dog for the first time would know he was having a blast from that expression.
What was truly mind-blowing was that after being dragged across the asphalt for ages, the moment Tofu spotted the dirt path leading to the reporter's house...
Pop!
—Hehe. That was fun. Let's head home quick, Grandma. You did great!
"...He hops right up like this as soon as we get near the house. It's infuriating, but so damn cute I just let him get away with it."
"Hmm..."
Tofu sprang up and trotted off with bouncy steps.
It was a bizarre sight even watching it firsthand. Why on earth did this guy act like that?
"Whew, look at all this dirt. They say washing every day is bad for his health, so I wipe him down with a towel after walks like this."
Once in the yard, the reporter didn't head straight inside. She fetched a towel and vigorously rubbed down Tofu's fur, caked with dirt.
Every swipe turned the towel black with grime.
Her sighs deepened with each darkening stain.
"You'll have to hand-wash that dirt-covered towel."
"Laundry's nothing new after a lifetime of it—it's not a hassle. The leash is the real problem."
"The leash?"
The reporter undid the leash from Tofu's body and held it up to the camera.
"Leashes usually last five years, right? But ours get replaced every month. From all the daily dragging, they shred to bits in no time."
"Once a day... No wonder you're going through them like crazy."
I was stunned by the Mad Max-level wreckage of that leash, but the reporter suddenly clapped and laughed.
"Ohoho. Once a day? We do morning and evening—twice a day. If the weather's nice, we squeeze in a third after lunch when the sun softens."
I swear I saw a halo glowing behind the reporter. She had to be this era's Mother Teresa.
Even walking Ssal-i, who trots along fine, twice a day morning and evening drains me (though it's built up my stamina lately).
Dragging a massive Sapsali-Jindo mix twice a day?
Three times sometimes?
I wouldn't do it for all the money in the world.
So this had to be fixed. Not just as a vet on a mission, but as a fellow pet owner.
"Let me check if Tofu's health is okay."
I grabbed my medical kit—the one I lug around like set dressing for every shoot—and approached. Tofu eyed me warily up and down.
—Wh-what? I'm fine!
No use saying that to me.
I'm a vet who tells the unvarnished truth about a patient's health, even with a knife to my throat.
Being dragged across asphalt two or three times a day couldn't be good for his fur or skin.
Determined to find some health issue, stop this weird behavior, and free the reporter from walk-labor hell, I began a thorough exam.
"Alright, let's see. Lie down nice and still, Tofu."
—Ah, come on. I told you I'm good!
I checked his fur, then his skin.
"Flip over."
—Like this? Flop?
"Yeah, on your back. Good boy."
—Ehehe. That tickles. It tickles!
"Hold still. Just checking if your bones are solid."
I examined his joints meticulously too.
"Hmm..."
"Is our Tofu... okay? I hope there's nothing seriously wrong..."
The results were shocking.
"Skeleton, fur, skin... Everything's in perfect shape. Not a single issue."
"Aigoo, what a relief. I figured the skeleton might hold up, but fur and skin too after all that asphalt dragging?"
—Hehe, see? What'd I tell ya!
I was shocked too.
"Tofu's got incredibly thick fur. It acts like a buffer, so even dragged on asphalt, his skin's unscathed. He's... shockingly healthy."
"Aigoo, truly a relief. He always wants to go out so bad, so I have to walk him, but I worried about his health every time."
Tell me about it.
I'd hoped to find some issue to ease the reporter's burden, but he was pristine.
"When did Tofu start walking like this?"
"About a year now. We were walking when a big truck honked loud. He plopped down right there, and ever since, he flops out whenever we near that spot."
"Was that spot along the asphalt roadside?"
"Yes, exactly."
—No! It's not that!
Tofu, who'd been quiet, suddenly barked indignantly.
"I'd like to figure out Tofu's behavior. Mind if I take him for a quick yard walk?"
"Of course. Use that Animal Whisperer thing of yours, Director. Figure out why he insists on being dragged."
Tofu always kept a smile on his face even while flopping and being dragged.
Plus, he controlled his direction with hind-leg paddles—anyone could see he was enjoying it.
Even with no health issues, we needed the root cause.
An elderly reporter couldn't keep this up forever.
"Spill it now. I'll relay everything to Grandma exactly. What isn't it?"
—What? You can really hear me? Grandma barely can!
"I hear just fine. Anyway, what's the deal? Not scared of flopping down?"
—Hmph. Obviously. Didn't you see my face during walks? If that's not enjoyment, what is?
Tofu shrugged smugly and continued.
—I only flop 'cause it's all for Grandma.
"What? For Grandma how?"
Tilting my head only made him pause his gait, deep in thought.
—Sigh... Where to start. Mom told me to make sure Grandma walks a lot. Old folks need daily strolls.
"Mom?"
—Yeah, Grandma's daughter. Lives in the city now. And what Grandma said earlier... the truck honked at her. I didn't flop from fear—I was startled.
Isn't that the same thing?
I stared, and Tofu bristled.
—Wh-what's that look?
"Nothing. Go on."
—For real? Grandma's hearing isn't great anymore!
"Her hearing... isn't great?"
Tofu sighed faintly, tail drooping as he trudged on.
—It's true. Her eyes are getting dim too... That time, she tried crossing on red. That's why the truck honked.
"...That's weird."
—What? You don't believe me?
Honestly, Tofu's sincerity felt suspect.
Because...
"Dogs can't distinguish red from green, though?"
Dogs lack the cones for it.
Tofu bristled at my question—was he born a little fibber?
His personality was feisty, unlike his squishy name.
—Sheesh! I know the top still figure is red and the spread-leg one below is green!
"Sorry, my bad. But what's that got to do with you flopping down?"
—Ugh, you're killing me. Why? When I flop, Grandma focuses and walks slower!
Slower from focus?
Because he flops?
—I push with my hind legs to help so she doesn't strain too much. I'd love another way to help Grandma, but... I'm still a pup. Flopping's the only way I can stop her...
Who knew there was such a story.
I'd pegged him as a pure prankster, but Tofu had depths.
His antics felt heartwarming now, roguish exterior hiding profound care.
But Tofu was missing one crucial fact—the kind pampered pups often overlook.
"Hmm. Know any other ways you could help?"
—Really? What? Tell me quick!
Tofu's ears perked, panting excitedly at the prospect.
"But first, something important."
—Mm. What?
"Tofu, you're not a puppy anymore."
—...What? What do you mean? Grandma calls me her puppy all the time!
Fair enough.
"Puppy" sounds cuter than "dog."
But any glance at mature Sapsali-Jindo Tofu screamed full-grown adult dog.
"You know you're a Jindo mix, right?"
—Yeah. But what does that have to do with not being a puppy?!
"Don't freak out. Pure Jindos mature at nine months."
—Wh-what?!
"Even giant breeds over 40kg hit adulthood at 15 months. And you...?"
—1... 15 months.
Too shocked?
Tofu's windmill tail lost power, eyes wide with dismay.
I patted his lost-puppy back gently.
"I get that you love Grandma. But you're a sturdy adult dog now, not a pup. Dragging your 20kg-plus bulk is too much for her."
Tofu, face like he'd heard "Santa's Choi Min-soo's dad!", flopped to inspect his body closely.
After thorough self-exam, he sighed deeply and stood.
I ruffled his head. His eyes now held a man's realization.
"How about helping from the front instead of behind?"
—Front... not behind?
"Yeah. Scout ahead, block her if danger looms. She won't tire out that way."
—Me...?
Tofu pondered.
Then he threw his head back and howled like a wild wolf.
Vowing change.
—...I can do it. I can protect Grandma!
"Cool. Ready to go back?"
—Yeah!
Tofu's confident stride toward the reporter looked solidly resolute.
Bzzz—
The vibration from her pocket.
Oh Ha-yoon set down her spoon and glanced at her phone.
But Oh Tae-san, who clung to 1980s vibes at the breakfast table, wasn't one to let it slide.
"I told you already. No phones during family breakfast when we're all together. TV, phones—these are what wreck families. At least mornings should be for talking to each other..."
No TV on, and conversations rarely flowed anyway, but mornings were always like this.
"Hanmaum Animal Hospital."
Oh Tae-san's rambling cut short at those words.
"Starting next week. Just got the acceptance."
A sly smile crept across Oh Tae-san's lips.
"Good. I trust you'll handle it perfectly without me saying more."
"Yes, Father."
Oh Ha-yoon mirrored his expression.
I'm not like my brother. Or you, Father.