Of all the dogs I could have chosen, the bouncy goldens, the goofy labs, and the friendly mutts, I knew from the start I wanted a Shiba Inu.

It wasn’t just their curled tails or foxlike faces, though that helped. It was something in their spirit. Quiet but watchful. Independent but loyal. A little stubborn. A little proud.

Kind of like me.

Shiba breeders aren’t easy to find, especially in the middle of nowhere where we live. My parents, bless them, drove me four hours through mountain roads to meet him. We got lost, argued over directions, lost cell service. But I didn’t care. The whole way there, I kept picturing him. When we finally arrived, he was already waiting.

Not bigger than my hands, darting around the yard in happy little circles. He looked so at ease and still completely himself - even leaving his family, heading somewhere unknown.

I named him Yuki.
In Japanese it means “snow,” but also “courage.”

Yuki has the kind of presence you can’t ignore.
He patrols the house like he owns it. Every sound, every shadow - he’s on it.
The neighbors call him dramatic.
My parents call him our free security system.
Me? I just call him my brother.

He even became a little famous in town, the dog who chased a deer eleven miles away and came back like nothing happened. People still stop us to say,
“He’s so handsome - love that fox face.”
And Yuki just sits there, dignified, as if to say: I know.

On our walks, I sometimes catch people staring at us, smiling faintly - like we’re some strange pair, two quiet souls who don’t quite fit the mold.

And they’re right.

My parents say,
“You and Yuki are the same - kind but stubborn, hardworking, loyal to a fault.”
And they mean it as a compliment.

Yuki’s birthday is five days before mine. In dog years, he’s older now -about thirty-five to my twenty-two. So really, he’s more of a big brother than a pet.

What he’s taught me is simple. But it took me years to understand:

Being “abroad” doesn’t mean being foreign.
It means learning to stand in your own skin, to walk your own road -even if others don’t quite get you.

And if you’re lucky, you find someone to walk beside you.
Someone who reminds you to be proud of what you carry.
Even if it curls up at your feet at night, looking like a little fox.