Chapter 2: Breakfast Bandit

Early in the morning, my dog Daisy dutifully trotted out onto the front lawn to do her business, her golden fur glinting in the sunrise.

The grass was still wet with dew, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of honeysuckle—one of those crisp spring mornings that makes you glad to live in the suburbs. I leaned against the doorframe, coffee mug warm in my hands, feeling the steam on my face as I watched Daisy sniff around like she was working a top-secret case.

I stood by the door, holding it open, waiting for her to finish so we could go for our usual walk. Suddenly, a black-and-white border collie I’d never seen before zipped through the crack and into my yard.

It moved so fast I nearly spilled my coffee. The collie’s coat gleamed, her eyes bright and full of mischief—definitely not a stray. I blinked, half-expecting to see a leash trailing behind, but nope. Just a bold visitor, strutting in like she owned the block.

I figured maybe Daisy had made a new friend, so I crouched down and played with the collie for a bit, surprise melting into amusement as she nudged my hand, tail thumping against the porch like a drum.

The collie wagged her tail and let out a happy bark, nudging my hand for a scratch behind the ears. Daisy, meanwhile, gave me a look that said, "Seriously, Mom? This is our turf. Remember last time you let a squirrel inside?"

After a half-hearted roll-over, the border collie made a beeline for the dog food bowl, moving with the determination of a kid at a birthday party spotting the cake.

She zipped past me, nose twitching as she zeroed in on the kitchen like she’d lived here all her life. Daisy’s bowl—her pride and joy—was in the crosshairs.

The bowl still had more than half of Daisy’s breakfast left—she probably planned to finish it after her bathroom break, as part of her sacred morning ritual.

Daisy’s ears shot up, and she froze mid-squat, realizing her breakfast was under attack, but the collie was already halfway to the prize.

The border collie didn’t hesitate at all, scarfing down the food like a vacuum cleaner—kibble crunching, bowl rattling on the tile.

It was almost impressive—the way she inhaled the kibble, barely pausing to breathe. I’d never seen a dog eat like that, not even Daisy on her hungriest day. I stifled a laugh, thinking, there goes my Costco haul.

Wow, it didn’t even chew—like some kind of magic trick! I muttered, "Is this dog part magician?"

I actually checked the bowl to see if she’d hidden the food somewhere, but nope. Clean as a whistle. I swear I heard a drumroll in my head as I inspected the empty dish.

I was stunned.

I just stood there, mouth open, coffee cooling in my hand. Daisy looked as shocked as I felt, her tail frozen mid-wag, both of us mirroring each other with our heads cocked to the side.

So was Daisy—her jaw practically on the floor, eyes wide, as if this was the ultimate betrayal.

Daisy’s eyes flicked between me and the empty bowl, as if asking, "Well? You gonna do something, or just stand there?"

One human and one dog stared in shock as the border collie polished off the food, lapped up some water (slurping loudly), and then swaggered out.

The collie even paused at the door, gave us a little nod—like, "Thanks for the hospitality"—then slipped right back out, cool as could be.

I asked Daisy, “Is that your friend?”

Daisy replied, “Woof.”

She tilted her head and gave a single, resigned bark, as if to say, "Guess we’re running a breakfast buffet now."

From then on, this border collie showed up at my house every day to crash the party—mooching food and water like she was on a neighborhood tour.

It became a morning routine. Daisy and I would exchange glances, then brace ourselves for the daily invasion. I even started keeping an extra water bowl by the door, like I was running a doggy Airbnb.

Within a few days, it had nearly finished all the dog food and canned food I’d stocked up on during last year’s Black Friday sale at Target. Even Daisy was getting annoyed, glaring at the pantry every time I restocked.

I’d been so proud of my coupon app deals, but now my stash was dwindling fast. Daisy started guarding her bowl like a sentry at Fort Knox, growling softly whenever the collie approached.

Watching it wolf down food, I actually started to feel a little sorry for it—maybe the poor thing was starving? The way she wagged her tail after every meal almost made me want to give her seconds.

Who’s the owner? Look how hungry this poor thing is—has it not been fed in days? I wondered, glancing at Daisy, who just huffed in reply.

I checked for a collar (there was one, with a tag), but the number was smudged. Maybe the owner was away, or just plain neglectful—either way, this was turning into a canine soap opera.

Finally, when the last can of dog food was gone, I decided to follow the dog and find out who its irresponsible owner was! I hesitated at the door, debating if this was how people got featured on Dateline, then shrugged and grabbed my jacket, phone, and a healthy dose of suburban curiosity.

I pulled on my jacket, grabbed my phone, and set out after her, determined to get to the bottom of this canine mystery—even if it meant missing my morning scroll through Instagram.