There once was a dog named Toby, a golden retriever with fur as shiny as morning sunshine and a nose sharper than a bloodhound’s. Toby lived with his owner, Sarah, who had a knack for making the best sandwiches in the neighborhood. This wasn’t just Sarah’s opinion—it was also Toby’s, though he only got the crusts and the occasional accidental drop of cheese.
One sunny afternoon, Sarah prepared her magnum opus: a towering turkey, bacon, avocado, and Swiss cheese sandwich. She carefully placed it on the kitchen counter, ready for her picnic at the park. Then she made the rookie mistake every dog owner knows to avoid: she turned her back.
When Sarah returned moments later, her jaw dropped. The sandwich was gone. Vanished. Only a lonely pickle slice lay on the counter, spinning as if to mock her.
“Toby!” Sarah shouted, scanning the room. Toby was lying on his dog bed, looking as innocent as a nun in a library. His head tilted slightly, and his big brown eyes widened with a “Who, me?” expression.
Sarah wasn’t buying it. “Where’s my sandwich, Toby?” she demanded. Toby wagged his tail, a subtle thump-thump against the floor, as if to say, You’re acting crazy, lady.
Sarah began her investigation. She searched the kitchen, then moved to the living room. No crumbs. No greasy evidence. She checked under the couch. Nothing. Then, as she turned toward the backyard, a thought struck her: What if he buried it?
Out in the yard, Sarah noticed a fresh patch of disturbed dirt under the rose bush. She grabbed a trowel and started digging. A few inches down, she hit something soft and squishy. She pulled it out, only to find… a slipper. One of her own, in fact.
Meanwhile, Toby had trotted up beside her, tongue lolling out, watching her dig like she was the crazy one.
Defeated, Sarah returned to the house. “Fine, you win,” she grumbled, pouring herself a glass of lemonade. As she sat down at the table, a slight rustling sound caught her attention. She looked up to see Toby perched on his hind legs, opening the pantry door with his paw. Inside, tucked behind the dog biscuits, was her sandwich—perfectly intact, though slightly slobbered on.
Toby glanced at her, then the sandwich, then back at her. He had the decency to look mildly guilty… for about two seconds before wagging his tail and attempting to snatch it again.
Sarah burst out laughing. “You’re too smart for your own good, you sneaky dog.” She took her sandwich and gave him the pickle as a consolation prize. Toby trotted away, tail wagging triumphantly, as if the pickle was his plan all along.
From that day on, Sarah started making two sandwiches—one for herself and one for the criminal mastermind she called her dog.
