Picky, Picky

For lack of table space, I laid out all the fixings for eight gift baskets on the floor of my office ... a cute little scarecrow for each, flavored tea bags, floral stationery, various writing supplies, and a ceramic fall mug filled with chocolate Kisses, Godiva gems, Baby Ruths, Nestle Crunches, Butterfingers, Dove dark chocolate-caramel nuggets, and Tootsie rolls.

Imagining how excited the drawing winners at my writing retreat were going to be when they received these gorgeous baskets, I assembled all the goodies into the elegant wicker baskets and was just beginning to wrap the first with clear cellophane shrink-wrap when I noticed the time.

Yikes! I'm late for church! Will have to finish when I come home. Without another thought, I rushed from the room and out to the car.

When I returned home, the first hint that something was amiss was a crumpled candy wrapper peeking out from beneath the couch. Where did that come from?

One glance at my miniature poodle, Fenway, skulking away with a candy bar sticking out of his mouth like a cigar gave me the answer.

"Fenway! You bad dog! Did you get into my gift baskets?"

Of course he had. The little choco-dickins. The funny part was that Fenway, who normally employs a feeding frenzy not unlike starving sharks, had carefully nosed his way through the bounty of ever-so-sweet options and ferreted out only the best. The Godiva and Dove bars were the only ones missing. A chip off the old block!

I guess if you have to love a thief, at least you can console yourself that he's a discriminating thief.

P.S. Whoever said chocolate kills dogs hasn't encountered the steel metabolism of my Fenway!