Haruharu, My Master 04. Long may he snore on the good pillow.
We live in a world obsessed with leadership. Self-help books scream at us to be alpha. Bosses demand we take ownership. Politicians promise to be strong masters of fate. And yet, here I am, at 6:17 on a damp Tuesday morning, standing in my pajamas at the back door, because a ten-pound bundle of fur named Haruharu has decided that the precise square of sunlight on the doormat is not, in fact, suitable for his post-nap urination. He looks at me. He looks at the yard. He looks back at me, sighs the sigh of a thousand disappointed emperors, and sits down. My Dog My Master 04 Haruharu
And I do. I find myself apologizing to this animal. “Sorry, Haruharu, I was on a call.” He blinks. He is not impressed. The gods are not impressed by our mortal excuses. Haruharu, My Master 04