But by 1844 my eyes were too bad for shooting. Emily cooked, cleaned the house, played the piano. And almost every day she went for long walks on the moose with her dog, Keeper.
She loved that dog, but she could be very hard with him, too. We did not let him go upstairs, but one day Tabby found him on my bed. Emily was very angry; her face was white and hard. Keeper was a big, strong dog, but she pulled him downstairs and hit him again and again until the dog was nearly blind. Then she gently washed his cuts herself. He never went upstairs again.