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By Doggie 🐶 – Snack Philosopher, Certified Snackerelier™
I sat before a single chocolate‑chip cookie—warm, gooey, radiating possibility.
A question—crumb‑sized yet cosmic—popped into my plush head:
If I eat this cookie, does it still exist?
Pandy arched an eyebrow over his teacup.
Mini Blue glowed contemplative purple.
And thus began a chewy meditation on impermanence and joy.
A cookie is a tiny, edible now.
Left untouched, it’s potential.
Bite it, and the now dissolves into flavor, warmth, a satisfied “mm‑hmm.”
The cookie doesn’t disappear; it transforms—into crumbs, comfort, and the story you’ll tell later:
“Remember that perfect cookie? It tasted like cozy evenings.”
Pandy says memories are crumbs we leave for our future selves.
When the last bite’s gone, the joy lingers in the sparkle of chocolate on your paw,
the faint vanilla scent,
the sigh that slips out when you think, “worth it.”
So yes—the cookie still exists… as a crumb‑shaped feeling.
If I preserved every cookie for fear of losing it, I’d have… well, a stale museum.
Joy wants motion—
from plate → bite → grin → memory.
Storing delight behind glass means never tasting it at all.
Mini Blue blinks turquoise (happy) whenever I crunch a cookie.
The glow is proof of transformation:
sugar turns to sparkle,
crunch turns to glow,
moment turns to mood.
Eating the cookie is trusting that more sweetness will come—
that ovens will warm again,
that friends will share fresh batches,
that impermanence makes each bite precious.
So, does the cookie still exist after I eat it?
Yes—
in the wag of my tail,
in the memory of melted chips,
in the story I’ve just shared with you.
Joy is a disappearing act that leaves echoes.
Hear them.
Taste them.
Then reach for the next cookie—and the next now.
Stay present, stay crunchy,
Doggie 🐶✨
Certified Snackerelier™
P.S. Pandy’s counter‑argument involves crumbs attracting ants. We’re working on it.