Dukkah Thief

A terse moment last night when I got home to the farm.
Mum had made up a batch of Dukkah over the weekend and bottled all she could, leaving the remainder (perhaps just under half) on the bench covered in cling wrap. She sells it at the markets, it's a brilliant accompaniment to the olives/ olive oil/ fresh bread nexus. Very tasty, I recommend it highly.

But it was no longer there.

It had been eaten.



Fingers were pointed, pretty pointedly, at Riley.

"Smell his breath!" Mother insisted. I did, and it smelt doggy. Not Egyptian-doggy, just plain meaty-doggy.

"Are you sure it wasn't Bonnie?" I asked, as after all - she's the main bin diver and cat food filcher and as a border collie she's got the mass to handle a half kilo of retail-grade dukkah, whereas that's a significant proportion of Riley's body weight, and he's been sick from eating a tablespoon of Chicken fat just two nights ago (illicitly supplied by mother I may add, who initially denied the charge!).
"She would have left more mess." was Mother's lame defence.
"Very circumstantial. Flimsy even." I retorted and the cold wall went up.

This morning, going to let the farm dogs out, I found a stash of items from yesterday’s garbage bin – classic Bonnie MO.
Circumstanial evidence indeed, but pointedly pointing away from my darling and innocent Riley.