“Keep outta that chocolate, Max!” the lady who thought she was my owner, cried.
She gave my rump a tap, and I trotted away with my stubby legs.
“Stupid dog,” she said in her primitive communication device. “It’s like he wants to die.”
I wriggled through the mini door – my bulky belly made it difficult to walk through – to the thing she called the backyard. I knew where I could find chocolate. I needed chocolate. She would never understand, and I couldn’t exactly explain it to her without sending her into a mental breakdown.
I dug under the fence into the place called the park. The air smelled of sausage sizzles and birthday cakes, but I had eyes only for the ice cream parlor across the street. Little humans were huddled around the street-side counter. As long as the employee behind it didn’t see me, I could lick up the remains of their lost offerings, often chocolate.
This world differed vastly from what I had seen when I first ID’d it from my ship. Covered in water, I thought the dominant species were fish. Since my ship couldn’t land in water, though, I landed in a green field close to the water.
As the little humans ran across the street, I collected the drips of ice cream on the pavement, narrowly avoiding being trampled. I noticed one lone boy on the edge of it all, watching the others as they ran through the park. His face was sad. Two big wheels on either side of his seat told me his legs didn’t work.
The ice cream lady walked up to the boy and handed him a cone with a big dollop of chocolate ice cream. She gave him a reassuring pat and said, “Want to go to the park after I finish work?”
He shook his head and licked the melting cream. Now she looked sad too. I wondered if I could make him smile and if I could get chocolate for my troubles.
I wasn’t on this planet long before I found chocolate. It wasn’t the first food I ate, mind you. But it was the first thing I enjoyed. I loved it so much that I scoffed down a whole cake sitting on a table in someone else’s “backyard.”
After that first great success, I learned a terrible fact. Non-alien dogs can’t eat chocolate. Something about exploding tummies. It seems almost every human knows this and will go into hysterics if they see a dog even near chocolate. I cursed my luck. Not long after that, I was “rescued” by the lady who talked on the phone too much, and she subjected me to her horrible ideas of food.
I ran to the boy’s side, and I tried to be coy as I jumped onto a chair beside him. He giggled and gave me a long pat on the back. His hand was soft and small.
“Where did you come from?” he asked.
Making sure no one was watching, I answered, “I’m from outer space.”
“But… why do you look like a corgi?” Children accept things a lot easier than men do.
“Funny story – could I have some of your chocolate?” I asked.
He passed the cone. I licked it and let out what I hope sounded like a sigh.
“I landed here in my spaceship in what you call a Corgi breeding farm,” I told him. “My people developed transformation tech linked to our ship. But after I transformed, they destroyed my ship.”
“So you’re an alien. That will look like a Corgi forever?” The boy let out a laugh, “That’s so hilarious!”
I pinned my ears back in the only form of expression I could seem to master. He scratched between my ears.
“I could think of worse ways to live,” he said. “My name is Pedro, what’s yours?”
I said it, but it was far more complicated than any human name, so he asked, “Can I call you Krypto?”
I agreed to the name, and he cheered, his smile widening.
We shared his ice cream and talked. He put me in his lap and refused to let me go when the ice cream lady returned. He asked if he could keep me and buy me a ball and go to the park. Her eyes moistened, her lips spread, and she said yes.
After that day, Pedro and I were inseparable, and he always filled the fridge with lots of delicious chocolate, chocolate, chocolate!