π The Great Poultry Heist
It was 2:00 PM on Christmas Day I think it was year 2018. On the centerpiece of the table, a perfectly seasoned, golden-brown roast chicken was resting on the counter, filling the house with a scent that could make a vegetarian rethink their life choices.
The family was in the living room, distracted by a high-stakes game of Monopoly. Enter Buster, a Beagle with a nose like a heat-seeking missile and a moral compass that pointed strictly toward "Snack."
Buster didn't bark. He didn't rush. He moved like a silent film thief. He used a discarded wrapping paper box as a step-stool, executed a perfect vertical leap, and secured the prize.
Ten minutes later, the kitchen was silentβexcept for the rhythmic *crunch* of a wing bone under the dining table. When the family finally walked in, they found the platter licked so clean it looked like it had been through a car wash. Buster was sitting in the middle of the floor, his stomach twice its normal size, wearing an expression of profound, unrepentant satisfaction.
UID-: Halsey1 (this took way longer than I would have like to spend on this )