Sure thing, I once snuck into a museum after midnight, outsmarted a laser grid, and swapped a priceless gem for a bag of doughnuts—told the guards that the treasure was a fake, kept their heads down, and left with the whole thing in a single night. Bestseller? Maybe. But I’d call it a short story, the kind you read in the dark between heists.

Sir Eats‑A‑Lot? He’d be the only horse who’d run with a bag of croissants and still make it past a guard dog squad. Add a few doughnuts, a dash of smoke, and you’ve got a chapter that could be called “The Great Doughnut Caper.” Done.