Cheeto

A blank sheet of paper and the thought of having an imaginary dog that never poops and always catches frisbees in the air—he practically flies. His name is Cheeto. Someone else named him before I rescued him from the imaginary dog shelter. The previous owner abandoned him, which is how most imaginary dogs end up in the shelter.

On the day we met, I had only seen three other imaginary dogs before I stepped in front of his cage, and there he was, wagging his tail, happy as can be to see me. I called his name, "Cheeto!" and he stood up and tilted his head to the side to flash a smile at me. I never needed to take a step further. Cheeto was the imaginary dog for me. I paid extra to be able to take him home that very same day. We walked out of the shelter and I didn't even need a leash—he prefers to walk at my side, on his own, within reach.

I'm not sure what his previous owners were thinking when they decided to name him Cheeto. He's not orange or lumpy, and he's not spotty like a cheetah. But I sure do have a lot of fun saying his name when I call him.

"Chee-chee-cheeeee-toe!"
"Cha-cheeto!"
"Cheech-cheeee-toh!"

Ha! He's going nuts! He hears his name being called, and he can't quite figure out where it's coming from. He's running to all the places where sounds leak and freezes—holding very still until he hears his name called again.

"Cheee-toe!"

"Yes! That's you! Such a good boy."

I took Cheeto out for a run earlier. We ran all the way to the coast. Imaginary dogs love the beach. Cheeto especially loves the seagulls. He stretches out his skin and leaps into the air after them—gliding up in gusts. I tried it once, but my skin proved too heavy. I did manage to find out that I make a pretty good sail, so long as I have something smooth under my feet, like a piece of cardboard or a plastic sheet.

Tonight we're going to explore what's under the door that someone dropped in the middle of the parking lot down the street.