The Donut Thief at Large

Here’s the situation. A family member walked in the door this afternoon with a big coffee shop donut box and set it down on the coffee table. He then proceeded to eat quite a number of the sweet treats and left. I wandered over, opened the box, and saw that two very tasty looking baked delights remained in the box. A boston cream and a lovely looking cruller of some description. Actually, I don’t know what the second donut was as I was bedazzled by the boston cream.

Now here was my dilemma. Because only two donuts remained, one would definitely be missed if I took it. Had there been six or seven in the box, I might have gotten away with it. I was very tempted but decided against it and carefully closed the box. As an intelligent and caring human being, I could not bring myself to plunder a family member’s sweet treasure. So, I left the living room, with much regret.

A while later, apparently, another individual approached the donut box and also had a look inside. But scruples played no part whatsoever in this family member’s decision making. As quickly as he could, he ate up both donuts. I know this because at supper, the person who bought the donuts asked everyone seated around the table if we knew what had happened to the last two donuts.

No one admitted to pilfering them and as we normally all tell the truth, our stories were believable.

The only possible culprit left was the dog. We all looked at him and he looked at us, and we knew he was as guilty as Jack the Ripper.

This was by far the best day of Toby’s young life and one of the worst of mine. But I learned a good lesson out of all this. It is a dog eat donut world out there and if a guy’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough. He who hesitates is lost.

I really hate being outsmarted by a gobbilly creature that weighs 13 pounds.

©2013 Jim Hagarty

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.