Monday when I went to the grocery store, they had a couple of very large produce bags stuffed with perfectly ripe bananas, for the low price of $1.49. I bought one of them; Ron likes to eat bananas for the potassium and they were the perfect ripeness to make banana bread.
I follow the old family recipe except I put in more bananas and less oil. I timed everything so when the chicken was ready to come out of the oven, the banana bread was ready to go in and bake while we were eating the chicken. After a lifetime of waiting for the banana bread to cool completely before eating, a few years ago I discovered the delight of eating it while it's still warm, the butter melting into the bread. Mmmm.
Ron and I ate two pieces each before I packaged it securely in a ziploc bag and placed it on the kitchen counter, far back, away from the edge.
Tuesday morning when we got up, I saw an empty ziploc bag on the floor, but that's not unusual; the dogs have been known to get in the garbage at night. Then I saw the empty space on the kitchen counter where the banana bread had been. "The banana bread is gone!" I said.
We knew the culprit: King. He's the only one tall enough to reach things on the counter like that. He may have shared it with the others once he got it off the counter, but I doubt it. He probably gobbled it down in two or three gulps.
At least I had a lot more bananas to make more bread. You could even say I had bunches more.
Ron had the brilliant idea (and I can't believe neither of us have thought of this sooner) to clear part of a shelf in the pantry closet as a place to put all our bread. That would keep banana bread safe from King and all the regular bread, rolls, etc., safe from Princess.
So that's what I did. And the second loaf of banana bread as well as the whole wheat bread and honey wheat English muffins remain safe from our voracious animals.