My name is Kodiak, though everyone just calls me Kodi. I’m the big dog in the family—part husky, part philosopher, full-time protector of the backseat window. I’ve got the steady legs, the old-soul eyes, and the responsibility of watching over my little brother, Finley. Finley is small, fluffy, and convinced the world was built specifically for him.

He is not entirely wrong.

I’ve lived on Mercer Island long enough to understand its rhythms. The mornings are quiet and misty, perfect for slow walks when the island still smells like lake water and pine. Finley, however, experiences mornings as emergencies. Every squirrel is a personal insult. Every leaf deserves investigation. I let him lead sometimes—it’s important for younger dogs to feel in charge, even when they clearly are not.

Our days are shaped by routines. Coffee shop stops where Finley charms strangers into compliments while I accept respectful nods. Long walks through Luther Burbank Park where I keep one eye on the water and the other on my brother, who believes he could, if necessary, defeat Lake Washington. I admire his confidence. I manage the consequences.

At home, Finley sprawls in sunbeams like he pays rent. I choose strategic positions: doorways, windows, anywhere I can monitor deliveries and neighborhood activity. That’s the big brother role—you don’t need to be loud to be in charge. You just need to notice things first.

Mercer Island is a good place to grow up, even for dogs. There are trails that teach patience, rainy afternoons that encourage naps, and enough friendly faces that you never feel like a stranger. Finley is learning all of this in his own way. He greets life with excitement; I greet it with intention. Together, we balance each other out.

When we ride in the car, Finley curls up like a stuffed animal. I take the window. The island rolls by—trees, houses, familiar turns—and I feel the weight of something important. This place raised me. It’s raising him now. My job is to show him how to belong without trying to own everything all at once.

Being a big brother isn’t about bossing someone around. It’s about walking a half-step behind so they can feel brave. It’s about letting them think they’re leading, while you quietly make sure they’re safe. Finley will always be the little dog, even if he grows older, louder, bolder. And I’ll always be here—steady, watchful, proud.

This is our life on Mercer Island. Small adventures. Big naps. Two brothers learning the world together, one walk at a time.