For more than a decade, Taiwanese artist Liang Renchuan spent his days walking the beaches near his home, gathering pieces of driftwood that the sea left behind. Each trip wasn’t just an act of creative inspiration — it was also a cherished ritual shared with his loyal dog, Hachiko.
Renchuan first met Hachiko 14 years ago under extraordinary circumstances. The tiny stray appeared outside the funeral home on the day of Renchuan’s father’s service — a moment the artist would never forget.
“He appeared in the funeral parlor that night,” Renchuan told The Dodo. “He became part of my family.”
From that day on, Hachiko never left his side. Whenever storms passed and the beaches filled with new driftwood, Renchuan and Hachiko would head out together. The artist gathered the heavy wood, while Hachiko chased waves and darted across the sand, tail wagging wildly.
“He was so lively at the beach,” Renchuan recalled. “Carrying the wood was my job — Hachiko mostly just wanted to play.”
Back in the studio, Hachiko would lie beside his dad’s workbench, quietly observing every sculpture take shape. He often appeared in photos of the finished pieces, sitting proudly next to the art he had “helped” inspire. Sometimes, he even nudged pieces of driftwood himself — as if wanting to join in on the creative process.
But time, as it does, caught up with the beloved companion. Earlier this month, after 14 years of loyalty and joy, Hachiko passed away peacefully in the studio that had been their shared world.
“He died where he loved to be most — beside me,” Renchuan said softly.
Even before Hachiko’s passing, Renchuan had begun sculpting a life-sized statue of his dog — a project born out of love and quiet anticipation of goodbye. Using driftwood from their beach trips, he slowly shaped Hachiko’s familiar form piece by piece.
“I wanted to leave a memento for after he was gone,” Renchuan said.
After Hachiko’s death, the artist poured his grief into finishing the sculpture. He painted the wooden body with Hachiko’s warm hues, attached his real collar, and whispered a final message as he completed it.
“Go and have fun,” he said. “My dad will be with you in heaven.”
Today, the driftwood statue stands in Renchuan’s studio — not as a replacement, but as a bridge between memory and love. Every grain of wood, every curve of form, carries traces of their countless days spent together by the sea.
“We used to go to the beach together to collect driftwood,” Renchuan wrote in a tribute. “Now I can only use driftwood to get you back again.”
Each time he returns to the shore, Renchuan still feels Hachiko’s spirit running beside him — the waves whispering reminders of a friendship that even time cannot erase.
As psychologist Dr. Stephanie A. Sarkis once wrote, “There’s no wrong way to grieve the loss of a pet. Whatever brings you comfort — that’s what works.”
For Liang Renchuan, that comfort lives in driftwood, in art, and in the everlasting bond between a man and his dog.
