The Great Supper Thief

Toby on leash

By Jim Hagarty

I was just now playing chase with my dog Toby in the backyard. He was really bootin’ it. But he had just eaten his supper. So he stopped and soon was staring down at the very same supper, displayed nicely on the grass. He came over to me, looking sad. I patted him, told him not to worry. And went to get the equipment necessary to clean up the mess. But when I returned, it was to discover that the equipment was not necessary. Apparently, and this can be the only explanation, someone climbed the privacy fence into our yard, sneaked over and stole our doggy’s supper. How mean. Toby, meanwhile, seems to have recovered.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.