Hachiko The True Story of a Loyal Dog Pamela S. Turner, Exercises of Storytelling

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Hachiko

The True Story of a Loyal Dog

Pamela S. Turner

There is a statue of my old friend

at the entrance to Shibuya

Station. His bronze feet are bright

and shiny, polished by thousands

of friendly hands. There is a sign

that says, simply, "Loyal dog

Hachiko." I close my eyes and

remember the day we met, so

long ago.

It was spring, and the day was

clear and cold. Businessmen

strode about, hurrying home or

to catch another train. Mama

and I had stopped near the

station entrance when I noticed

the dog.

He was sitting quietly, all alone, by a

newspaper stand. He had thick,

cream-colored fur, small pointed ears,

and a broad, bushy tail that curved up

over his back. I wondered if the dog

was a stray, but he was wearing a nice

leather harness and looked healthy

and strong.

Just then, Papa appeared. He was

chatting with an older man. The dog

bounded over to the man, his entire

body wiggling and quivering with

delight. Papa introduced us to the

older man. "Dr. Ueno works with me

at Tokyo Imperial University."

"What is your dog's name?" I asked

timidly.

I reached out and touched Hachiko

gently on the shoulder. "His fur is so

thick and soft," I said. "Like a bear's."

Dogs like Hachiko once hunted bears

in the north, where it is very cold and

snow," said Dr. Ueno, kneeling down

next to me and rubbing Hachiko's

ears.

From that day on, I went to the

station almost every afternoon. But I

no longer went to see the trains. I

went to see Hachiko. He was always

there, waiting near the newspaper

stand. when it was cold, I would bury

my face in the thick ruff of creamy fur

around his neck.

One day in May, I was waiting at the station

with Hachiko. The moment I saw Papa, I

knew something was wrong. He was alone,

and he walked hunched over, staring sadly

at the gray pavement under his feet.

Hachiko's bright brown eyes followed us as

we walked away, but he stayed behind,

waiting for Dr. Ueno.

When we got home, Papa told us that Dr.

Ueno had died that morning at the

university. I was stunned. "But what will

happen to Hachiko?" I asked, blinking hard

to keep the tears back. "What will he do?"

"I don't know," said Papa. "Perhaps Dr.

Ueno's relatives will take him."

"What about tonight?" I asked.

"Can we go see if he is all right?"

Papa was very sad and tired, but

he walked with me back to

Shibuya Station. Hachiko was

curled up by the newspaper stand.

He wagged his tail when he saw

us. Papa and I gave him water in

an old chipped bowl and some

food. Hachiko ate and drank, but

he kept looking up toward the

station entrance for Dr. Ueno.

Papa and I left ever sadder than

we had come.

The next day, I went back to check

on Hachiko, but he was not there.

Papa told me that Hachiko had

been taken several miles away to

live with some of Dr. Ueno's

relatives. "But I'll never see him

again!" I cried. "Why can't he live

with us?"

"Hachiko belongs to Dr. Ueno's

relatives, now that Dr. Ueno is

dead. Hachiko is better off having a

home than sitting at a train

station." said Papa.

"Do you still take care of the house where Dr. Ueno lived." I asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Kobayasi. "Hachiko comes back to the house every night to sleep on the porch. But in the morning he walks to the station just like he did with Dr. Ueno. When the last train leaves the station, he returns home."

As the years passed and Hachiko got older, he became very stiff and could barely walk to Shibuya Station. But he still went, every day. People began collecting money to build a statue of Hachiko at the station. Papa, Mama, and I all gave money and we were very happy when the statue was placed next to the spot Hachiko had waited for so many years.

One chilly morning I woke to the sound of

Mama crying. "What's wrong?" I asked as I

stumbled into the kitchen. Papa sat silently

at the table, and Mama turned her tear-

stained face to me.

"Hachiko died last night at Shibuya

Station," she choked. "Still waiting for Dr.

Ueno."

Later that day we went to the station. To

our great surprise, Hachiko's spot near the

newspaper stand was covered in flowers

placed there by his many friends.

Old Mr. Kobayashi was there. He shuffled

over and put a hand on my shoulder.