If you love someone, say it with cookies. Everyone loves cookies. Everyone does not like ice cream, or sushi, or bananas, but I would hazard a guess that everyone likes cookies.

Fresh baked are best, all warm from the oven, but fancy-schmancy bakery cookies will get you pretty far. Boxed cookies from the store might do in a pinch, depending on the intended recipient. But for the real cookie love, cream that butter and sugar, beat in the eggs and flavouring, mix in flour and baking soda, fold in your choco chips, your nuts, your dried fruit or whatever, and bake it up. Mmmm.

I don’t know why I bake cookies. It certainly does fill up an hour or two. I probably do it mostly to see the joy on Donovan’s face. He’s like a little kid, sneaking into the kitchen to stack up a bunch of cookies from the cooling racks and then washing them down with milk. In return, he brings home cupcakes for me. It’s a sweets cycle, kind of like the water cycle. Surprise begetting surprise.

On another note, the other type of cookies around here function as sort of a dog insurance policy. Levi will do anything if you just say the word “cookie”. Or “treat,” or “food.” I only have to touch his cookie jar for the dog to materialize from anywhere in the apartment (not a big place, but still). He can’t even concentrate on the trick, he wants the treat so bad.

As long as the cookie jars are filled, we all kind of stick together. Mutual bribery society.