Dogged Loyalty

I thought I learned my lesson with Old Yeller, Hooch and Marley & Me.  I thought I proved I can't handle anything even remotely dramatic, when it comes to animals - especially dogs.  But sadly, I got sucked into another tear-jerker of a dog film this afternoon. 


"Based on the 1987 Japanese film Hachiko Monogatari, as well as on a true story, Hachi: A Dog's Tale, stars Richard Gere as a college professor who finds an abandoned dog and takes the poor lost animal in. The film follows the two, 
as the man and animal soon form a strong and unexplainable bond."

          
It all seemed harmless to me.  How could watching a movie about "Man's Best Friend" actually becoming a man's best friend, be a bad way to spend a rainy Sunday?  How could two hours of canine comfort for the soul turn into an afternoon poorly spent?  Here's how:  My eyes are still swollen, my nose is still running, and my teeth still ache.  I can't stop thinking about the real Hachi, about the screen play, about that fact that this movie isn't just a movie at all.  I can't stop feeling this heart-wrenching anxiety, this unbearable sorrow, over an animal I've never met, over an Akita who was renowned to possess a kind of dogged loyalty I didn't even know existed.

Hachi is reliable, pure, inexplicably steadfast.  He walks Professor Parker to the train station every day, and then goes home to wait - meeting and greeting the people he sees along the way.  Each evening, he comes back, sits patiently, and watches for the Professor to exit the terminal.  He's greeted warmly by his teacher, by his savior, by this amazing family man, whose life was unexpectedly turned inside out and upside down, by a lost dog.  I cry.  And I can't stop crying.  What a beautiful story.  Dog and human, brought together by circumstance, kept together by recognition of an obvious attraction, merged by the dedication and loyalty each holds deep in his soul.


And then Professor Parker dies.  A heart attack strikes, mid-lecture, and he collapses to the floor.  The family comes looking for Hachi, and finds him waiting.  The trains go by - one, two, three.  He's confused, but he waits.  He's lost, yet he waits.  The family tries to pull him away, make him a home.  They move from the neighborhood, and take him along, welcoming him into their house.  Hachi follows the Professor's daughter and son-in-law reluctantly, but with every chance he gets, he escapes.  He returns to the station.  He goes back to the old house.  He waits, for the Professor to come home.


Finally, the Professor's daughter tells Hachi that she misses him too, that she understands, that she constantly thinks of her father - every day.  She says she loves Hachi, and she wants him to live with her, but if he needs to go - she understands.  She opens the gate, he licks her hand, and he leaves.  Back to the station.  Back to wait for Parker.  More tears.


The commitment Hachi shows is unlike anything I've ever witnessed.  He doesn't know the term "discouraged."  He doesn't know the word "good-bye." He only knows "patience, dedication, love."  Hachi exemplifies dogged loyalty.  Unwavering, unfaltering - for nine years, he returns to that station, day after day after day.  I'm without words.  My heart breaks for this dog, for this sentiment, for the realization that Hachi may never understand that Parker is NOT coming back.  And for finally understanding that it wouldn't matter if he knew.  He wouldn't care.  He'd sit and he'd wait - every day - just in case.  He'd accepted that role, and he planned to honor it, to the end.  That's what heroes do.  And that's why Hachi is special.


I cry, and I cry, and I cry.  I can't stop crying - considering this amazing expression of loyalty, wanting to be better than I am, knowing I've never come close to a commitment of this kind.  I cry hard, and I seek out my own dog, hoping to find comfort in her face.  She's laying in the guest bed, taking a nap, and when she hears me crying, she jumps to her feet.  She kisses me quickly and lovingly, addressing my sobs and tears.  She knows.  She feels my angst.  She shows genuine love and concern.


I often say, we can learn a lot from dogs - and I still think that's true.  Animals are real.  They do what they feel, and they believe in us, every day.  They stand by us, no matter what - and they live to keep doing it.  We don't ask them to stand guard, to kiss away our tears, to wait for us every day - but they do.  And they 
will.  They always, always will.

- L.