Stay!: Keeper's Story
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This is the story of a dog who tells his own tale. As a pup he is separated from his mother and siblings. This unusual dog learns about living on the dangerous streets and even makes up poetry. He finds human friends, has the chance to win fame and fortune, and is given the name Keeper. Through it all Keeper can't forget his long lost little sister. If only they could be together again, life would be perfect. But an old enemy is watching and waiting to make his move.
casually, disappear. I could have, in my days with Jack. Often during our time on the street I would go for a stroll. I had physical needs to attend to, after all; Jack understood that. Sometimes I wandered out of his line of vision, turning the corner, simply checking the neighborhood. In truth, I was always on the lookout for two things: the appearance of Scar, so that I could flee (later, as I developed more self-confidence, I began to think that instead of fleeing I might fight), or the
assistants. Then I would be led to my spot at the side of a thin person—sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes apparently neuter—in new-smelling clothes. My leash and collar would be undipped, and someone would say sharply, "Sit. Stay." If, restlessly, I shifted positions or turned my head, the sharp voice would command me again, and there would be a veiled threat in the tone. No one called me by name. Once again I had become "The Dog." I no longer took pride in my pose or my sneer. I
golfers wearing baggy trousers on their legs and visors on their heads attempted to hit the ball a few inches into the cup. Each one, interrupted by a sneeze, would miss. The crowd (forty people hired to stand around the green wearing light-colored clothes and animated facial expressions) would send up a groan at each miss. Then, as the failed and allergic golfers looked on in dismay, handkerchiefs to their noses, The Dog was to walk over and nudge the ball into the cup. Then I was to sit there
tongue, in Lassie's kitchen. I circled my spot on the braided kitchen rug, lay down, and yawned. Suddenly I heard, in whining unison from the cats, "It's Keeeeeeper!" At the same moment I heard Emilys mother say in a startled voice, "Keeper!" I raised my head, of course. Never before had the three of them at once called out my name. To my surprise, they were not looking at me. They were staring at the television. Not wanting to leave my comfy spot on the rug, I craned my neck to get a better
me groan anew. "Mom!" Emily called. "Something's wrong with Keeper! He's groaning! I think he's sick!" Her voice was worried, and she stroked my head gently. Her mother hurried into the kitchen and knelt beside Emily. It was a lovely moment, lying there surrounded by humans who cared for me. My eyes actually filled with tears at the sweetness of it. "Maybe he just has a cold," Emily's mother said. "His eyes are running. And he did sneeze this morning when he came in from the rain." "But I