TRAILING DAWG, we wound our way along a well-worn path among the trees. It was barely raining now; the sun was beginning to shine through the clouds. Every few steps we would find another pool of water tinted pinkishred. Even though the faint odor wasn’t exactly bloodlike, we knew we were on a trail of evil. We just didn’t know where it would lead.
Howie, as usual, was well ahead of us. Suddenly, he called out, “Pop, don’t come any closer! Stay where you are!”
Chester arched his back, his hair rising straight and tall like a Mohawk Indian’s. I suppose I should have been alarmed, too, but there was something about Howie’s warning only Chester that made me brave enough to run ahead.
Howie stood beside an empty bottle. Dawg was sniffing at it. “Uncle Harold,” Howie whined, “the blood ends here. Pop isn’t safe. They’re going to make him into... into soup!”
“Soup?” I said. I was completely at a loss as to what he meant until I read the label. “Catsup,” I read aloud, though of course I pronounced it “ketchup.”
“That doesn’t say cat soup?” Howie asked, surprised.
Chester was now close enough to hear our conversation. “And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Further evidence of the damage to the brain caused by chewing on bones and chasing sticks.”
“I believe,” Dawg said, “that yer friend is making a crack about dogs.” He growled.
I was about to step in, when Howie yipped loudly. “Pop!” he said. “Dawg! Uncle Harold, wait a minute! I don’t understand. If the trail of blood—”
“Ketchup,” Chester interjected.
“Whatever,” said Howie. “If it doesn’t lead to this bottle, then where does it lead?”
“There,” Dawg said matter-of-factly, forgetting his anger toward Chester. We looked ahead, and in a clearing was the house from the night before. It seemed less forbidding by day, but I couldn’t help remembering Chester’s name for it—an American House of Dr.E.A.D.
“You’ve brought us full circle,” I said. I was beginning to believe that there really was something to Chester’s suspicions. “Why?”
“Because that’s where you’ll find Bud and Spud,” Dawg said. “And if I’m not mistaken, you’ll find your family there, too.”
“What are they doing there?” Howie asked Dawg.
“Well, if it’s Bud and Spud you mean,” said Dawg, “they live there. As for yer kin, I couldn’t say. All I know is this is where the trail is leading us.”
Chester eyed Dawg coolly, doing a pretty fair imitation of Humphrey Bogart on the late show.