안녕하세요 (annyeonghaseyo). Yes, I speak Korean. Do you? No? That’s OK. I’ll still be judging you.
I’m Pepper. Eleven years young. Sapsaree mix. Village-born, spirit-trained and currently, domesticated-ish. My ancestors roamed the villages of Korea, warding off evil spirits and minding their business. I do the same thing, just with better cookies and a couch.
I allowed my parents to rescue me. Mom needed a companion while working overseas, and I was picked up from the streets. Once in their home, with terms, they considered changing my name, but they quickly realized: a) we’re keeping her and b) it’s impossible to change her name. I am Pepper — not mild, not optional and not for everyone. I have a lot of rules.
To start, I am a look-don’t-touch kind of lady. Yes, I am luxuriously soft, and my cuteness could crash the internet, but no, you may NOT pet me. Even if I know you. Even if I like you. Affection is earned. Slowly. And possibly never. My love language is a well-timed, deeply intimidating bark. I’d be excellent in law enforcement for drug detection or border patrol, and my motto is: “Don’t start none, won’t be none.” Simple. Efficient. Effective.
Now, let’s talk about my humans and my domain. My humans — they are acceptable. I trained them well. Dad is the good cop. Plus, we speak the same language. But Mom and I have special moments. When she comes home, I retrieve Dottie — my travel buddy, my emotional support colleague — and parade her around like a victory flag. There is chatter. There is ceremony. There is joy. Controlled joy. Dinner time is when I release my signature howl. Not for drama, but for communication and culture.
My days include being in charge of operations, emotional security and spirit protection. I ward off negative energy, suspicious vibes and anyone who rings the doorbell like they don’t know better. Try it. I dare you. I will black out — professionally. If I am resting and off-duty, laid out in your presence, you will say, “Excuse me, ma’am.” Otherwise, it will cost you. You’re welcome.
Other dogs want friends. Strange. This whole “let’s play,” “good girl!” situation? Unnecessary. I’m not aggressive — I’m refined. In Korea, we work. We observe. We protect. I am on duty at all times.
Now listen. I didn’t plan to live this life. Domestication was not on my vision board. I am still wild. Still watching. Still working. But — shhh — lean in, and don’t repeat this: I am grateful.
Hide-and-seek with my humans is my favorite time of day. Not for fun, but to remind myself they always come back. Every time they find me, I remember: I was chosen. I was kept. But again, this is not something we discuss publicly — until now. Maybe I’m softening in my older years, but don’t get used to it. I can change my mind immediately.
Stay in line. Respect the rules, and maybe — maybe — you’ll earn a seat in my presence.
안녕. That means goodbye.