“I warned you to keep that fleabag away from cats!” the old man said. “You don’t want to listen? This is what you get. Now go throw him in the river.”

I picked Clops up and walked outside. He didn’t move in my arms but I had a glimmer of hope that he was just playing dead.

“Make sure you heave him out far,” the old man called. “I don’t want no carcass washing up near here, capisce? He’ll smell up the fucking town.”

When I got out on the sidewalk, I put Clops down and examined him under a streetlight. He lay still, his good eye wide open. I heard little noises that sounded like his stomach growling. Reminded me that he hadn’t been fed yet. I felt awful. I petted him to get him to wag his tail or something. Anything. Finally he whimpered so I figured he was going to make it. When the old man went to the bathroom, I snuck Clops back inside. Jackie stopped bawling when I slipped into the bedroom carrying his dog.

“Is he dead?” Jackie whispered.

“No,” I said. “Gonna be okay, I think.”

“We better hide him good. He’s slunkmeat if Pop finds him up here.”

Jackie and I slept in my bed with Clops tucked between us beneath the covers. I woke up at five in the morning and turned on a pen flashlight that I kept hidden between the mattresses. Flashed the light in Clops’s face. His eye was open. Tried to stick my finger in his mouth to see if he was still warm, but his jaw was chilled shut. I pointed the light on Jackie. His arms were wrapped around his dead dog’s head as if Clops were a teddy bear. A dab of blood had dripped out of Clops’s mouth and stained Jackie’s undershirt.

It was getting light out so I climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of dungarees and a Boston Bruins jersey. I gently pried my brother’s arms from around Clops’s head. When I lifted the dog’s body, Jackie woke up, startled.

“Take it easy,” I said.

“What are you doing?”

I laid Clops on the floor and tied my sneakers.

“I’m taking Clops out to the country. Gonna give him away to a farmer. Now be quiet, I don’t want him to wake up. He had a rough night.”

“What if he don’t want to stay out there?”

“He’ll stay. He likes the outdoors.”

Jackie wiped crusted saliva from his cheek. “Don’t let Pop hear you. He’ll have a conniption.”

“Relax,” I said, picking Clops’s body up in my arms, “I got it under control.”

As I walked out of the bedroom, Jackie whispered in an exaggerated falsetto, “Goodbye, Clopsy. I’ll come visit you baby.”