And I loved them. Every single one of them: with milk, without milk, as the heat of the mid-day Sun melted the chocolate chunks and the cool counter-top air kept them solid. Costco bakery cookies are some of the best manufactured cookies in these United States and I have to force myself not to buy them every time I go into the store.
Yeah, self-discipline is a bitch.
However, with the discount, even at only $1.50 off their normal price, I caved in and bought a package of 24 large chocolaty bliss -- and had a couple on the drive home. Then another with dinner, and another for an after dinner snack. Then the next morning with milk, for breakfast. And a mid-morning snack.
And then I left the house, half a package of glorious chocolate chunk cookies sitting on the counter awaiting my return.
Fast forward about 6 hours. I'd gone to the Irish Festival (see previous blog post) and come home close to 9PM, fed the dogs and took them for a walk. An hour or so later I was in the mood for a snack and something sweet sounded like the perfect sneak. I pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it with milk and turned to the last place I saw the cookies.
Nothing.
Nothing?!?
I searched: this counter, that counter, in the fridge, on top of the fridge. Wondering, where, if anywhere, my roommate might have moved the package.
Nothing.
Eegads! Where were my cookies?
And then it hit me -- understanding -- like lighting striking a flag pole: the ground. Look at the ground! I saw it, then. The see-through plastic cookie package pushed into the corner under the overhang created by the lower cabinets. Empty.
One of the dogs had climbed on top of the counter and dragged the cookies onto the floor. I already knew my usual suspects: Rufus, 65lbs, barely taller than my knee at the shoulder, or Charlie, also 65lbs (or so) but taller, leaner, able to get his paws near my shoulders when on his hind legs.
 |
| The Devil |
Charlie was the only creature in the house capable of reaching the cookies, knocking them down and gobbling them up. Certainly not the cats and certainly not Rufus, dear sweet innocent Rufus.
Don't get me wrong, I have no doubt Rufus partook in the spoils of Charlie's criminal actions, but Rufus can barely get his nose at counter level when in the kitchen, especially on the Pergo floors where he can't get a grip with his feet.
Charlie, on the other hand, has proven time and again that he can not only reach the counter, but the back of the counter-tops, able to scoop off sticks of butter, bread, cookies and more.
Charlie ate my cookies -- my delicious Costco chunky chocolate chip cookies and now the closest I will ever get to those cookies is when I pick up after him in the park.
Charlie is not my favorite person today. Nor tomorrow. Nor possibly for at least a week.
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