Keepers Read Online Free

okay? You just rest there, that’s right, rest. I’ll bring you something to drink.”
    I had to crawl out backward, so it took a minute or so. The farther away from her I got, the softer her wining became; the strange thing is, the softer her whines, the more they became the only sounds I could—or wanted—to hear.
    I found a large, clean mixing bowl and filled it to the rim with water and ice cubes, then scavenged some leftover steak from the refrigerator. Maybe she wanted a last meal, maybe not, but goddammit if she was going to die underneath my porch she was going to have a choice about it.
    Back outside and crawling, this time with a flashlight to guide the way as I pushed the bowl of water and plate of food ahead inch by muddy inch.
    She’d moved again, forward this time, about a foot and a half. The flashlight beam caught her eyes and turned them into a pair of small glowing embers. They moved left, right, then vanished for a few moments as she closed, then re-opened them.
    “Here you go, girl. You hungry? Got’cha some water, nice and cold.”
    She pulled forward, using only her front paws. Her back legs were splayed behind her, limp and useless. The fur surrounding her eyes was drenched in thick, mucus-like tears. Even in agony she recognized a treat, knew that this was Something Special. I pushed the bowl and plate closer. She looked at my hand and growled, so I let go and pulled away as she lifted her head over the water bowl and tested it with her tongue. She remained like that for a moment, head dangling over the bowl, some of the water dripping from her mouth, breathing heavily.
    I remembered a scene from some movie long ago: a little girl running away from home encounters a dog whose owner beats it mercilessly, then ties it to a pole in the back yard during a rain storm. The girl waits for the owner to finish beating the dog and go back inside, and once she’s alone with the animal she unties the rope and tells it to go, but it won’t. It looks at her in utter confusion as she tries to get it to leave, pulling at it, pushing at it, pleading with it to go, to get away, but it only sits there, staring with longing in its eyes at the house where its owner lives. “You can’t love him,” she weeps. “You can’t, you just can’t!”
    “Did you love them?” I whispered to the dog under my porch. “Did you sit in rain storms and cry for them to bring you inside? Did you love the belt they used on you? Did you lick their hands when they were done?”
    Her ember eyes (brown with gold flecks, I saw for a moment), met mine and she started drinking the water in earnest. I moved the flashlight beam to see if I could make out what was etched on her collar tag but her head was too low.
    “I’ll do what I can for you, if you’ll let me.” I reached toward her again; she lunged, snarling, jaws snapping. I jerked back and up and slammed my skull against one of the pipes. The world went supernova before my eyes, and by the time the pain had fully registered I was staggering to my feet behind the trash cans. Gripping my head, I dropped the flashlight and teetered against the largest can, knocking it over and falling on top of it. The supernova faded into the light of a single star rolling back and forth, back and forth, slowing as the universe imploded, slowing, then lay there glaring at me.
    I got to my knees and grabbed the flashlight, turned off the starlight, and stumbled into the house. Maybe dogs preferred to die the same way as elephants: alone, in some private place, with darkness as their benign, final, best friend.
    My chest hitched and my throat constricted. God knows I wanted to cry for both her and the old man, but I couldn’t. Dad: Crying’s for girls, boy . Mom: Don’t let anyone see you like this, I’ll never hear the end of it from your father .
    Water.
    Beating down as hard as possible.
    Let her drink it, let it cleanse me.
     
    * * *
     
    Fifteen minutes later I stood in the kitchen,