The story of a family and their dog, Coco.

#nana56b


Lines from the story


When I was in middle school, my father
brought home a stray dog.

He was a cute male dog with perfectly
round eyes.

His sleeping snores sounded like
“Koko-koko,”
so I named him Koko.

My sister and I would take him for walks in
the park and play with him.

Now Koko is already 17 years old—an old man
in human years.

Lately, he hasn't been moving around much.

So much has happened since Koko came into
our lives.

My father passed away from illness, and two
years later, my mother followed him to
heaven.

Then it was just my sister and me, but Koko
helped ease our loneliness.

One day, I was running late for work and
hurried along the station platform.

Thinking I might catch my usual train,
I tried to jump on at a fast pace.

Suddenly, Coco's cry (like a howl) rang
in my ears.

I stopped and looked around, but of course,
Coco wasn't there.

Was it just my imagination...? Just as I
thought that, the train doors closed and it
pulled away.

I had no choice but to wait for the next
train, but it took forever to arrive.

Then an announcement came over the intercom:
“There has been an accident at the railroad
crossing... Trains will be delayed for a
while...”

Passengers nearby grew restless, everyone
pulling out their phones.

Anyway, since I was going to be late, I left
the station, hailed a taxi, and headed to work.

After arriving safely at the office, during
my lunch break, I was watching TV...

They were reporting on that train accident.
They said 25 people were injured.

My heart raced. That train was the one I
should have been on at that time.

Feeling uneasy, I returned home. In front of
Coco's bed, my sister was crying.

Coco lay still, not breathing. And she was
stiff... cold...

I remembered the sound of Coco crying I heard
back then.

If I had stayed on that train, I might have
been seriously injured.


Could it be that Coco, already a spirit by
then, warned me of the danger?

That thought suddenly crossed my mind. I'm
not the type to believe in the occult.

But as I thought that, looking at Coco's
cold form,

tears spilled from my eyes too. Before I knew
it, I was crying, my voice shaking.


After that, we made a grave for Coco and
placed flowers there.

My sister enlarged a photo of Coco, framed
it, and made it into a memorial portrait.


Then, a year passed since that day. Last
month, my sister married and moved away to
a distant town.

Standing before Coco's grave, I couldn't
help but whisper, “I'm finally all alone.”

Then, tears began to fall freely from my
eyes once more.

Suddenly, from somewhere, I heard Coco's
sleeping breath: “Coco... Coco...”

To me, that sound seemed to say, “I'm
here...”