[BOOK SUMMARY & REVIEW] “HACHIKO - THE WAITING DOG”

Hachiko is a touching story based on a true event in Japan, about an Akita dog named Hachiko and his unwavering loyalty to his deceased owner. The story doesn't have dramatic plot twists or intense climaxes, but it touches the reader's heart with its simplicity, sincerity, and profound humanity.

The work revolves around Hachiko waiting for his owner at Shibuya Station every day, even though the owner has passed away. This silent waiting lasted for many years, becoming an immortal symbol of loyalty and unconditional love.

I. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Luis Prats, born in Terrassa, Spain (1966), is renowned for his works for children and teenagers, imbued with humanistic values and emotions. He often chooses simple stories, based on real events, to convey profound messages about love, loyalty, and the connection between humans and the world around them.

In Hachiko, Luis Prats recreates the true story of a loyal dog in Japan with a gentle, slow, yet deeply moving narrative style. With his unhurried and simple writing style, he allows readers to admire the unwavering friendship of the Akita dog against the backdrop of a beautiful and peaceful Japan.

II. MAIN CONTENT OF THE BOOK

The story begins when a two-month-old Akita puppy travels nearly five hundred kilometers in the freezing cold to Tokyo, opening up a completely new life. At Shibuya Station, the little dog had a brief but fateful encounter with his future owner – Professor Eisaburo.

In that moment of eye contact, an invisible bond seemed to be formed. It wasn't just the gaze of a young animal, but eyes that held a profound depth: "No, not at all. In those sad, ash-gray eyes, there was something deeper and more intelligent." That very gaze caused the elderly professor, who usually didn't care much for pets, to pause, embrace the two-month-old puppy, and leave the station, braving the falling snow to return to the home that would become his sanctuary for the years to come. The name Hachiko was also given by the professor himself, derived from the dog's distinctive bow legs: "He has bow legs. Like a hachi, the character for eight."

On the first morning in his new home, Hachiko stood quietly by the bed, patiently waiting for the professor to wake up. That attentive and serene gaze prompted the old professor to break his usual morning tea routine – a habit never interrupted – to prepare a bowl of warm milk for Hachiko. This small moment not only demonstrated the professor's quiet concern but also marked the beginning of a special bond: where established human habits gradually gave way to the presence of a new life.

For a year and a half, Hachiko quickly adapted to his owner's regular routine. Every morning, he followed the professor to Shibuya Station, silently watching the train depart. And every afternoon, at the usual time, Hachiko would appear at the station, patiently waiting amidst the bustling crowds to greet his owner's return.

Those days passed in a peaceful atmosphere that seemed to never change. The routine of seeing off and welcoming at Shibuya Station became an indispensable part of Hachiko's life, not as a taught duty, but as a simple joy stemming from a deep bond. For the little dog, the world seemed to shrink to the familiar sight of his owner stepping off the train each afternoon.

However, this very regularity made the subsequent events even more heartbreaking. One familiar afternoon, the professor didn't appear at the station anymore. The train still arrived, the crowd still dispersed, but the person Hachiko was waiting for didn't return. He sat there, patiently watching, believing that he was just a little late today.

Even after being taken to the rural area of Hisai-shi, more than three hundred kilometers south of Tokyo, tied up, and beaten so severely that he collapsed unconscious, the little dog didn't give up. When Hachiko woke up with a blood-soaked head and a body exhausted from three days of hunger and thirst, he still managed to bite through the rope binding him. Without a map or clear direction, relying only on memory and instinct, he trudged along unfamiliar paths to return to Tokyo, to Shibuya Station – where Hachiko believed his silent promise to his professor remained intact, never broken.

For nearly ten years, Hachiko regularly appeared at Shibuya Station, an indispensable part of the place. Every afternoon, at the usual time, he would quietly show up, rain or shine, snow or the biting cold of Tokyo's winter. When he was young, Hachiko sat upright, his eyes intently following each train. As old age set in, he would curl up on the cold stone pavement, his thin body trembling, but his eyes never left the train tracks – as if just one more train and the person he was waiting for would emerge into the bustling crowd.

As the years passed, his white fur gradually turned gray, his steps became slower, and his strength dwindled with each harsh winter. Passersby gradually became accustomed to the sight of the old dog lying silently on the platform. Some brought him food, some stopped to pet him, and some called his name affectionately. But all that attention, however warm, could not replace the person Hachiko was waiting for. For him, that waiting was not a vague hope, but an unwavering belief, needing no reason, no explanation – simply staying until he could no longer stay.

Until one day, Hachiko never returned. Without a word of warning, without a sign of farewell, he quietly left the familiar station, closing nearly ten years of waiting in absolute silence. His departure was not noisy, yet it left a vast void – as if Shibuya Station had lost a part of its own memory. People still unconsciously glance back at the familiar corner of the station, where an old dog once sat waiting, his eyes fixed on the approaching train, patiently as if time had never passed. Yet, it was precisely this absence that made Hachiko's image immortal. The story of a loyal dog spread from person to person, beyond the trains, beyond the city of Tokyo, touching the hearts of even those who had never met him. Hachiko is no longer physically present, but his waiting remains – silently existing in people's memories, in the stories told, and in the statue at the station as a testament to unconditional loyalty.

Amidst the bustling crowds at Shibuya Station, Hachiko's figure is no longer visible, but that waiting remains – a gentle yet poignant reminder of love, of pure loyalty, and of promises never spoken, yet kept until the end of his life.

III. PERSONAL REFLECTIONS

While reading this book, I cried a lot. But I didn't cry because of Hachiko's desperate escape to return to Tokyo, nor because of the years he waited so long for a simple promise: "When I return this afternoon, we'll go for a walk." I cried when I witnessed strangers – Mr. Sato, the train conductor, Mrs. Fujiwara, Mr. Matsumoto, and the courtesans Sasaki and Ibuki – successively reaching out to care for the old dog.

They knew the professor's story, and why Hachiko returned to Shibuya Station every day. With their ordinary kindness, these strangers provided him with simple meals, gentle caresses, and compassionate glances. They cared for him not out of obligation, nor expecting anything in return, but simply because they couldn't turn their backs on a living being who had dedicated its entire life to waiting. That care helped Hachiko survive, helping him get through cold rainy days and harsh winters, preventing an old dog from facing the world in hunger and oblivion.

But all that warmth only touched his body, not his heart. For what Hachiko longed for was never food or care. Amidst the embrace of many, he still yearned for only one figure – the one who would never return. He received the care silently, but his eyes never left the familiar train tracks, where someone had once stepped out and called his name. This contrast made the pain clearer than ever: Hachiko didn't lack love, but he was forever missing the person his heart belonged to.

Perhaps what makes this story so poignant isn't the death or the long years of waiting, but the moment we realize that amidst the kindness of so many people, Hachiko remains utterly alone in his own unwavering loyalty. He was loved, but couldn't be forgotten; cared for, but couldn't be abandoned; kept alive, but his heart forever remained at the train station, waiting for someone who would never return.

Closing the story of Hachiko, what lingers is not just the emotion of a dog's loyalty, but a profound sense of awe at how a tiny creature loves humanity to the very end. Hachiko didn't understand death, didn't understand loss in the human sense, but he understood one thing very clearly: the promise of waiting.

The story makes me wonder whether humans – with their full intellect and language – can hold onto such unwavering faith. While it's easy to forget things that were once very important, Hachiko spent his entire life remembering. His waiting demanded no reciprocation, no recognition, yet that's what made it sacred.

People often think the greatest pain is losing a pet, but the story of Hachiko poses the opposite question: what happens when animals have to live on after the loss of their owner? Hachiko didn't have the choice to forget, nor did he know how to let go. He only knew how to wait, carrying the memory of a simple promise and a love that was never reciprocated. Through this, the story quietly allows the reader to feel the love, attachment, and silent pain that animals endure for the rest of their lives.

IV. CONCLUSION

The story of Hachiko ends not with a dramatic climax, but with a prolonged silence – a silence that can only be created by years of unconditional waiting. Hachiko doesn't become a symbol because of how long he waited, but because he loved completely, purely, and absolutely, without expecting anything in return, without demanding an ending.

In a bustling and sometimes indifferent city, that waiting becomes a testament to the most primal loyalty. It forces people to slow down and ask themselves: do we have enough patience to stay with someone until the very end, enough courage to keep a promise, and enough kindness not to forget those people – or beings – who were once our whole world?

Hachiko doesn't teach us how to raise a dog. This story teaches us to cherish each other's presence while we still can, because sometimes the most painful thing isn't the departure, but the fact that someone remains, waiting, until the end of their life.

If you're looking for a book that's not loud but powerful enough to quiet the heart, to make us love more deeply and live more slowly, then the story of Hachiko is a choice you shouldn't miss. This isn't just a story about a dog, but a poignant love song about attachment, loyalty, and enduring human values that transcend time.