The Ketchup Dog Chronicles

Not Yet the Sequel

THE KETCHUP DOG CHRONICLES
(written by Craig, Jennifer, and a pair of haunted ice skates)

It was a dark night. Heck I think it was stormy, too. But the rain made it hard to see if it was or not. The blades on my ice skates made it hard to walk. We were both wearing black shoes but they were caked in red ketchup stains from kicking ketchup bottles down at the school yard.

I told Craig not to kick the spicy kind, but he said the Sriracha twins were asking for it. Now they were gone—probably exploded—and all that remained were the stains and a smell like vinegar and vengeance. We crept down the sidewalk, my skates sparking like metal regrets, his shoes squeaking with wet condiment guilt. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked in Morse code.

Craig found out it was his mutt Jennifer. She was a mix of every kind of dog. I think she was made in a lab somewhere. Her mother.