The Cookie Monster

By Jennifer Quasha

A balanced diet is a cookie in each hand.
~Author Unknown

I stepped off the elevator, key in hand, ready to unlock the door to my one-bedroom apartment in New York City. Behind the door would be Winston, my seven-year-old Bichon Frise, ready to jump off his dog bed and give me oodles of tail-wagging love.

When I opened the door, I noticed that Winston had other things on his mind. Lying down and hunched over his front legs, he was chewing a cookie wrapper that he held between his paws. He was struggling with that package, but he had made quick work of the four other cookies whose wrappers lay empty nearby.

"Winston!" I said. He stopped and stood up, his head and tail drooping.

When I went over to pick up the wrappers I realized what they were. I couldn't believe it.

Each wrapper had contained a white-chocolate-dipped Oreo cookie. The cookies had been individually wrapped inside a cookie tin. The unopened cookie tin had one of those super-strong seals of super-sticky clear tape, double-wrapped around the top to keep the lid in place. Even I couldn't get that tape off easily, and I have opposable thumbs.

I had left the unopened tin in a zippered bag, under a heavy winter jacket — which is why I forgot the tin was there — on a chair in the living room.

"Winston," I said again in my disappointed, you're-a-bad-dog voice, still in disbelief.

How did he get into that tin? And where was the tape? I shook my head and grabbed the opened cookie tin and top. I counted eight cookies remaining. I threw away the wrapper and the cookie he was working on.

Naughty dog, I thought, as I put my purse away and went to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. When I came back into the living room Winston was on the couch, another cookie wrapper between his paws.

"Winston!" I said again.

He looked up. I walked over to him and he wagged his tail. He looked at me as if to say, "You're not going to take this one away, too, are you?"

"Where did you get this?" I said, as I walked to the kitchen to throw it away.

As I cooked dinner I noticed that Winston wasn't standing by my feet like he usually did, in prime position for my droppings. I looked out of the kitchen and saw Winston prancing toward the couch with another wrapped cookie hanging from his mouth.

When I walked toward him, he ran.

"Winston!" I said. He stopped.

I grabbed it, threw it away, and marched over to the tin. How many cookies were supposed to be in that tin? Eighteen? Oh, boy.

Okay. There were eight cookies left in the tin, four empty wrappers on the floor, and three cookies that I had taken from Winston upon my return. Fifteen total. That meant that there were three missing.

I looked down at Winston. He looked back. I walked into my bedroom. Winston followed. As I walked around he watched me. I stopped in front of the laundry basket, one of his favorite hiding places.

As I reached into the dirty clothes he wagged his tail. As I dug deeper I heard a crinkle. I felt a wrapper and pulled it out.

"Hah!" I said. Winston barked and wagged his tail.

"One!" I announced.

I went to my closet and started searching again. No reaction from Winston.

I moved to my husband's closet. Winston wagged his tail.

I dug through the basket of clothes for the dry cleaner. No reaction again.

I bent down and starting putting my hands into my husband's size 13 shoes. Tail wag. I found a cookie in a brown loafer.

"Two!" I cheered. Winston barked and wagged his tail.

"Only one more, my little friend," I said, smirking.

Winston was having fun, and so was I.

Winston jumped onto our bed and walked over to my pillow. While wagging his tail, he looked at me and then looked down at my pillow. Again he looked up at me, and again at my pillow.

"You're making this too easy," I said, hands on my hips.

Under my pillow I found the last cookie.

"Three!" I said. "Sorry little buddy. No more cookies for you!"

I went back to the kitchen to stir my pasta again.

I marveled at how Winston, instead of eating all the cookies, took the time to hide them. Wouldn't most dogs simply gobble them all up? And he had hidden them in all his favorite places. It was so cute.

I began to feel a little bad. Winston was having fun until boring, no-fun mom came along. I sighed, took the pot of boiling water off the stove, and headed toward the sink.

I glanced out the kitchen doorway and saw Winston. He was wagging his tail and had another cookie packet hanging out of his mouth.

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