Wonder Dog

I wake up in a psych ward, surrounded by my family. “We have something to tell you,” my mom says reluctantly. “You don’t actually have a dog. You created Tulo in your head. You’ve actually just been dragging a loaf of Wonder Bread around for two years. It finally got so moldy and stinky, we had to do something about it. We couldn’t play along anymore.”

“WHERE’S TULO?” I scream. As I try to get up, the restraints tighten around my wrists and ankles.

My dad pulls a plastic bag full of black gunk from behind his back. “Jeff…this…this is Tulo.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?! NOOOOOOO! TULOOOO!!! WHYYYYY???”