Farewell to Tofu

The Japan Times column below tells of the death of our family dog, Tofu.

This occurred when my wife and I were on a trip to Thailand. I have another column about the events just prior to that journey, which I will post here some day in the future.

Tofu was not her chipper self in the week before we left. Still, when we departed home, we never suspected that she would be departing too.

Some notes:

I received a bit of flak at the time of publication from a reader who felt I was making fun of Buddhism. I wasn't. Or at least had no such intention. I was playing tongue-in-cheek with what to me was an unusual turn of events. Tofu, herself, would take no offense, I am sure.

I inserted the name Taylor Swift just for this edition. In 2006, I used a different pop idol, one that these days nobody knows. So goes the pop culture carousel.

The Chinese calendar assigns a different animal to each year in a twelve-year cycle. In 2006, when this was published, it was the Year of the Dog.

Most Japanese city-dwellers keep their dogs indoors, as in: small houses = small dogs. But Tofu was an "outside" dog, with her own doghouse. This practice began when we lived in another residence where the yard was somewhat spacious and Tofu somewhat rambunctious.

"Meter lady" means the woman who stopped by once a month to take a reading from our... Gas meter? Electric meter? Water meter? One of those. Or maybe all. I am not sure.

The suffix "chan" is a Japanese language diminutive often given to little girls and pets.

Here then is my farewell to Tofu.

---

My Dog -- the Buddhist 

Jan 21, 2006

Tofu-chan

When it comes to matters of religion, I tend to equivocate.

For example, all I need do to question intelligent design is to glance in a mirror.

Yet, I also reserve some doubts for evolution, wondering, among other things, if we all rose from single-celled goop, how come so much of that goop hasn't evolved with us? Can it be mere chance that most goop is still goop while some has developed into, say, Taylor Swift?

On more intense topics -- like what happens after death -- I suppose I'll find that out myself, sooner or later.

In a family mix of Bible belters, agnostics and Trekkies, this eternal subject has sparked relatively little debate. Until now, that is, as one member has become Buddhist.

The new Buddhist is not my Japanese wife, who professes Christianity. Nor is it her kin, who advance the sukiyaki approach to religious faith, as in: whatever adds more flavor is welcome to the mix.

No, the family Buddhist is my dog.

The story behind this is approximately 14 years long. One third-grade morning, my second son found a frisky puppy outside his classroom window.

Turn the clock ahead to the more recent past, and this September our neighbor found that very same puppy plopped before her doghouse, this time in the most unfrisky state imaginable. At the moment, my wife and I were on a plane flying back to Tokyo from abroad.

The orangish mutt that our boy had carried home that day we named Tofu. Our other choice had been Sushi. Regardless, she now has a Buddhist name for the afterlife, a name I cannot even pronounce.

For most of her life, Tofu did not seem especially spiritual, although she did have her meditative moments. I would list her primary interests as urinating on trees, barking at the meter lady and eating from her dish.

She was also known for her endearing lack of courage. Somewhere in the history of her breed had perhaps entered a chicken or a fraidy cat, for she would turn tail and run even from shadows.

This is how she got religion:

Our neighbor had a dead dog on her hands. We had placed Tofu in those capable hands before and never had Tofu died, so we had left no instructions for what to do.

Perplexed and concerned, our neighbor phoned a Buddhist temple that specializes in deceased pets.

A priest arrived in flowing robes. The neighbors gathered in our pitiful excuse for a yard, the humble plot of land that had been Tofu's final earthly home. As the priest chanted over our dog's body, the small crowd of people -- good neighbors all -- inserted themselves in our spot as family mourners… and wept.

The priest then removed Tofu's collar and escorted her to the Buddhist pet crematorium, where she formally entered the great beyond.

My wife and I rattled home on the last train of the night, set our suitcases in the drive and called for a dog that was no longer there.

The next morning we heard the mournful tale. Our final good-bye to Tofu before our departure was really and truly goodbye.

That afternoon, the priest brought Tofu home in a small porcelain urn. I received this solemnly. The priest, like all well-trained men of the cloth, offered the same solemnity back.

Until I paid his fee.

"Tofu!" he laughed. "That's the weirdest pet name yet! I'll remember Tofu!"

So will we. She sits now in all her Buddhist glory on a cabinet in our kitchen. She had always yearned to be an inside dog, and now she has her wish. Buddhism, it seems, is working for her.

"She was such a good dog," my wife sniffles. It is the second death in our little household in two years. The previous spring my wife's mother had passed away as well.

"Tofu sort of reminds me of my mother -- unassuming, shy and never complaining, even at the last."

"Don't be silly. They were nothing alike."

"But even their urns look the same. And the way they would always wait so patiently. There's a resemblance. Can't you feel it?"

"Think about it. Would your mom ever catch a ball in her mouth? And would she roll over?"

This last image contained more truth than tease, as in her final months my mother-in-law fought a constant battle with bedsores. So there was no reason for my wife to push me, especially in front of our religious dog, whose newfound faith has added a touch of decorum to our kitchen.

We broke the news to our sons by e-mail. Their dog had died. And had converted to Buddhism. I don't know which item they found more surprising.

We told them we would hold the urn until they returned and then we would bury it in the yard together. After all, 2006 is the Year of the Dog. How fitting.

But with what kind of ceremony?

"Does it matter?" says my wife. "Tofu was always eager to see the boys. I don't think she would let her beliefs hold her back."

"Of course it matters. The family should all end up in the same place, right? How else will we find each other?"

At this point, I suppose, reincarnation and transmigration should enter the discussion, aspects of Buddhism of which I know very little.

Yet I am sure Tofu had positive karma and -- if the Buddhist view of the next step is correct -- there may come a day when she will be walking me and not vice versa.

In the end, I am proud to have a Buddhist in my family, especially such a gentle one.

Sleep well, good dog. The meter lady will torment you no more.

© Thomas Noah Wood

(Update, in regards to my blog post of Oct. 26th. I was hospitalized and underwent cancer surgery on Oct. 28th. It went well and I am now convalescing at home. Many thanks to all who expressed their concern.)

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