Mari came into our lives when my wife saw him being rehomed on a Shiba Inu Facebook group and fell in love instantly. I, on the other hand, was hesitant. I was worried about changing our lifestyle.
When my wife and I got married, unlike most couples, having children was not part of the vision we had for ourselves. We’ll see, we thought. Kids were something that we shelved for later. We were just starting out and there was a lot we wanted to do and see.
I actually thought that most people of our generation would do the same. Trends showed that the DINK (double income, no kids) lifestyle was becoming more acceptable, especially with the high cost of raising a child. So we were surprised to find that the number of couples in our circle who were opting to go childless dwindled.
Still, we thought we’d look into it at another time. But something would always happen later on, and we’d put it off again. Soon enough, we were left being just a few in our circle not having any kids and being questioned: really, why aren’t you having children?
We were having too much fun, I think. There were so many things we wanted to achieve for ourselves, so much of the world we still had to see. We could take the kind of risks in our business that I don’t think other people with children could swallow. We had no tuition fees, child care, and other such expenses to think of. We enjoyed our relatively carefree existence, spending our income and time on things we wanted. Go off and try a new restaurant even in the middle of the week? Sure, we can. Take off on a whim and visit another country to explore? Children would just slow us down.
Deep inside though, I suspected that I would be a great dad. I didn’t have the chance to be one yet, but that was okay. Fatherhood for me was all about responsibility, something I felt I wasn’t ready for just yet.
Becoming a dog dad
Then somewhere along the way, I started becoming more than a little obsessed with Shiba Inus, one of the venerated dog breeds in Japan. With their fox-like features, they’re the very definition of kawaii. No wonder they became the dog of internet, the star of many a meme.
It stared when I stumbled on the Instagram account of Marutaro, a fluffy, striking Shiba that had millions of followers. He was so famous and stunningly handsome, he posed in Vogue with a famous (human) supermodel and even became an official tourism ambassador for Japan.
In the beginning, I had a litany of rules. Mari had to stay downstairs. He couldn’t go inside the bedroom. By the time the pandemic rolled in and we were all stuck at home, the rules had become mere suggestions. Suddenly, I became the one making excuses for him.
From there, the algorithm fed me more Shiba Inu accounts and soon enough, I roped in my wife and she started following them as well. For years, we were content to just use Shibas as our profile pictures, share memes, and excitedly point to the ones we encountered on our travels. This went on without us actually making an attempt to get a Shiba for ourselves because we knew we couldn’t afford to take care of one yet.
Then Mari came into our lives. My wife saw him being rehomed on a Shiba Inu Facebook group and fell in love instantly. I, on the other hand, was a little more hesitant. Despite my Shiba obsession, I was worried about changing our lifestyle. How would we take care of him? Would we still be able to travel? What about the new furniture? But my wife was insistent—she had found the one.
In the beginning, I had a litany of rules. Mari had to stay downstairs. He couldn’t go inside the bedroom, much less climb up the bed. He must behave, eat what we feed him and on time. I realize now that I was resisting the change to our lives. After all, even our childless friends were surprised by our decision to get Mari. They knew our laidback lifestyle and couldn’t believe we were giving it all up.
But slowly, Mari started sidling up to me as I played video games, and going up the couch he was previously banned from. He started following us up to the room, carefully testing what he could get away with. By the time the pandemic rolled in and we were all stuck at home, the rules had become mere suggestions. Suddenly, I became the one making excuses for him—oh but he’s lonely, he’s hungry, he’s tired, or any one of the many other states of being that would explain why we should allow Mari his way.
And also because of the pandemic, our businesses shuttered, our savings had dwindled, and we had no choice but to live as simple as we could make it. But through it all, it felt that so long as we had Mari with us, everything was somehow enough. This we carried over even when things got back to normal.
Embracing change
Mari changed our priorities and the calculus of our lives. The jaunts abroad were replaced by daily walks on the beach and to the same parks over and over to walk him. The impromptu nights to go out and eat or drink somewhere new became choosing to stay in because, as you opened the door, there was someone welcoming you home as if you were gone for years.
Now nothing makes me more satisfied than cooking a good meal for Mari – and sure, also for my wife. There are times when I would realize this change and think: do I miss our life before our dogs? Yes I do. But do I wish things were back to how it was before? I surprise myself by knowing that the answer is no, I wouldn’t change a thing for the world. I remember distinctly the time I turned to my wife and thanked her for getting Mari. It was because at that moment, I realized that I had a son. And I had become a father.
Since then, we got a companion for Mari, another Shiba we named Luna. And just a couple of months ago, we became grandparents. Our little family had grown.
Nowadays, as I take our third walk for the day and see Mari looking up at me as if to say “Thank you, daddy,” I realize that it’s not just about what made me into a father but what being a father made me: content.
