Stay!: Keeper's Story Read Free Page B

came to me:
Upright, my tail! Forward, my legs!
I think I smell some ham and biscuits!
    No, of course, it had to be eggs! I began to see how poetry worked. I said the couplet again to myself with satisfaction and new energy. It sounded like an anthem or a marching song. It cheered me. Orphaned now, but not overwhelmed, I turned my back on my past and set forth.

Chapter 3
    A T THE CORNER OF THE ALLEY I stopped. Ahead of me lay a busy street, not at all like the quiet, neglected place that had been my home for all of my previous life. In the way of dogs, I sniffed cautiously. I erected my ears to their maximum alertness and tilted my head to listen.
    Mother had taught us each scrupulously about the use of senses. "Nose, ears, eyes," she had said again and again, so that we would memorize the correct order of importance. Nose, ears, eyes. It sounds easy. But my less bright brothers had tended to look and leap without stopping to sniff and listen. Mother had reminded them with increasing impatience. I could almost hear her voice reminding me now.
    Nose. I could smell gasoline exhaust: great gagging bursts from the back of a large bus that moved away from the curb to my right. I caught a whiff of newsprint quite nearby, and turned my head to see a folded paper in the entrance of a building to my left. As I assessed the paper, congratulating my nose a bit, I sniffed Male Human, and indeed was able to congratulate my accuracy again as a man opened a door, stepped outside, and leaned down to pick up the folded newspaper.
    The scent of his stale tobacco-tinged breath was familiar to me from the dishwashers who often smoked beside the restaurant's back door. I brought my ears into play, aimed them toward the man, and heard the scratch and flare of a match as he lit up and drew deeply on the cigarette. Then he took himself, his scent, and the aroma of newspaper and cigarette back into the building and behind its closed door. A slight odor remained, but the freshness, the sharp pungency, was gone.
    Breakfast. The scents that had attracted me were still there, drifting in from a distance, and I was still very hungry. " Forward, legs ..." my poetic voice was still saying.
    But I knew I should be wary. A dogs life is fraught with potential danger: from Car, from Cat, from Man, from Hostile Dog, and from all the frightening subcategories therein.
    So I proceeded with utmost caution. Sniffing, listening, and watching in all directions, I ventured forth around the corner and along the sidewalk that bordered the busy street.
    Inching my way carefully past a wheeled vehicle containing a baby, I was startled when a sticky hand reached out and grabbed my left ear. It was my first experience of being touched by a human, and I did not like it very much. Of course it was a subhuman, being only an infant; nonetheless, its grab hurt. An ear is a very delicate thing.

    I confess that I yipped.
    "Max!" its mother shrieked, and removed its hand from me in an alarmed fashion. I was not surprised. It was an alarming event, the possible damage to my ear. In addition, the baby's hand was not at all clean. It was filled with half-chewed cookie.
    "Never, never touch a dog!" the mother said in a firm, frightened voice.
    I liked that mother. She understood the grave potential danger to my ear.
    The baby waved its hands about, paying no attention what-soever to its mother. It behaved in much the same manner as my brothers, frisking about and not listening to instructions. My heart went out to that wonderful mother, trying so nobly to explain to her child the rules of kindness to dogs.
    "Max?" the mother said sternly. "Are you listening to me?"
    Pay attention, Max, I commanded under my breath. She is teaching you valuable lessons about the importance of being both gentle and generous to dogs. Listen.
    The baby stared at his mother. He had rather bulbous eyes, and there was dried mucus, nostril in origin, encrusted on his upper lip. He was not well groomed. His