Stay!: Keeper's Story Read Free Page A

that point, cold and lonely, I needed what comfort I could find.

    Mother had been away for hours. She had never left us for such a long time before. As much as I longed for her, and her warm belly to sleep against, and the supply of milk that it always provided, I dreaded seeing her face when she returned and found her babies gone.
    Finally, still waiting, I dozed off.
    ***
    I woke again, chilly, sometime in the night. I wiggled my nose and sniffed Essence of Mother, that particularly reassuring smell that said she was nearby. But the familiar scent seemed slightly different. It was mingled with Essence of Other Dog, Male. Puzzled, I yawned, sneezed once, and raised my head to look around.
    There she was, at the end of the alley. I stretched, tiptoed over to the side of the trash can, and peered around to get a good look. My mother was standing there with a tall, dark, and handsome Doberman. She was ... well, I guess the only word would he flirting. Her tail was moving with a very contrived swish, and she arched her neck to rub against the Doberman's sleek shoulders. It was cheap, trashy behavior, in my opinion, and I was shocked to see it.
    I whimpered and she glanced my way. I am quite certain she saw me. Her left ear twitched.
    I tried a small bark. Now her escort, the Doberman, looked over at me with bored eyes. Impatiently he turned back to her, and she sighed. They nuzzled each other for a moment more; then he turned and trotted away while Mother watched.
    Quickly I scampered back to the hidden place, flopped down, and pretended to be asleep. I waited. I could hear her approaching, but her steps were slow and reluctant. In the past she had always hurried back to us, checked out our well-being with an affectionate nose, and arranged herself protectively around our little group.
    Now, though, she sighed and pawed restlessly at the ground, barely seeming to notice me. I had thought I would comfort her in her grief at the loss of the other puppies. But she seemed not to be aware that they were gone. She looked longingly at the corner behind which the Doberman had disappeared.
    I whimpered again slightly, but she paid no attention, and I did not want to seem like a whiner. Finally she settled restlessly beside me, acknowledging that her evening on the town was over.
    I sensed that she was bored with motherhood and eager to resume life as a party girl. I didn't blame her, really; she was young yet—only three, I think—and in the way of dogs still had ahead of her a lifetime of flirtations, love affairs, and no doubt (though I did not want to think about it) other puppies yet to come.
    I licked one paw, pretending to be very concerned about a small bit of damp newsprint stuck to my fur, and glanced at her to see if she was interested in my grooming, as she once would have been. She tended to me in a businesslike way, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
    Did she not notice that her puppies were gone? I think she did, in truth. She pawed a bit at the sleeping place, puzzled by the change. Then she seemed to accept things as they were. She sighed, sat tensely for a moment, then relaxed into a sleeping position, and finally closed her eyes and slept. I did the same, but my dreams were anxious and uncertain: dreams about finding my own way in the world; dreams about being all alone.
    When morning came, I knew that my dream had been more than that. It had been an omen. My mother's sleeping place was empty. In the intuitive way of dogs, I realized that she would not be back.
    Seeking solace, I tried to write an ode to Mother but found I could not finish. Everything I composed ended with the word alone, and the only rhyme I could think of was bone. The more I thought of bone, the less I thought about Mother. I realized, as my attention turned to urgent needs, that I was very hungry. My nose twitched. Suddenly I sniffed, from some unexplored place around the corner, something that might well be breakfast.
    Unbidden, new poetry