A dog ran off with my doughnut today.
“Tilly!” cried Tilly’s owner. But Tilly, an excitable white terrier, wasn’t in the mood for listening. Fastened between her teeth in a paper bag, and now bobbing around as she sprinted across the grass, was the delicious, sugary doughnut I’d just bought myself from the bakery.
I had been eating my lunch in the park, under the shade, leaning back against a tree trunk. Sandwich in one hand, phone in the other, I was listening to an audiobook in my headphones - The 24 Laws of Storytelling. I’d rested my bottle of water next to me, along with the paper bag containing the doughnut.
“Make sure your hero has obvious weaknesses,” burbled the American in my ears. He was going on about how boring Superman is because he’s too perfect and how there are only three things that can be used against him - kryptonite, his own super convictions, and of course, Lois Lane. “Every Superman story utilises one of these weaknesses,” he drawled, “But Batman is a hero with much more obvious humanity. He has to use his resources, his wit, his technology to overcome…”
I had a bite of sandwich. I really like the way bakery bread bounces. It’s so soft and fresh, like a mattress you can sink your teeth into. The wind blustered the leaves, the author wittered on about how great The Dark Knight trilogy is, and then Tilly stole my doughnut.
“I am so sorry,” said her owner, “When she’s got something in her mouth it’s almost impossible to get her to drop it.”
Inside I was betting it wasn’t. Outside, I smiled and told him not to worry about it. Meanwhile, Tilly, about two hundred metres away now, had her nose in the paper bag and was wolfing down my afters, deliciously and victoriously cocking up her head to check we were nowhere near her.
“I’ll er, I’ll go and get you another one,” he fumbled, apologetically. “Will you still be here?”
“No, I’ve got to head back to work, but seriously, don’t worry about it. These things happen.”
Inside: No they don’t. This is ridiculous. Lousy dog. Lousy owner. Lousy universe.
“Sure?” he said. I was busy imagining a world where I actually got really angry about things like this, and what I might say, and how I might feel if I were a different kind of person. Had Tilly nicked it from my child and my child were bawling into the trees, I might have been less calm or measured. As it was, I just got up and said,
“Yeah, it’s not that important. Oh don’t worry, there was no chocolate in it or anything. Hope she’ll be okay from all that sugar.”
He was too embarrassed to be thankful. I don’t blame him. He chased Tilly for a bit and eventually clasped a lead to her sugary collar.
"So your hero must be fallible," said the 24-laws narrator. I switched him off.
I just went back home to work after that, feeling as though I were still in need of some kind of a treat. Perhaps, I thought to myself, this is God’s way of telling me I shouldn’t be eating doughnuts, that I need more... self control.
Though, I’d have hoped he’d have also given more of that to Tilly.
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