Run: 2026-09-02-01M1H5JVGZY82K5X89KNHXJNMB

The petting zoo had been Bill's idea, which was fitting, because the petting zoo was where everything went wrong. Molly crouched behind a fiberglass barn shaped like a boot, adjusting the llama costume's head so she could see through the mouth hole. "Remind me," she whispered, "why we're dressed as barnyard animals to steal presents from a six-year-old?" "Because, Molly, nobody questions a llama at a party. A llama is a guest of honor. A llama gets VIP access to the present table." "Bill, there is no present table. There's a bouncy castle, a man making balloon snakes, and forty children who keep trying to feed me hay." "That's camouflage working. That's the plan succeeding." Molly counted the presents through the llama mouth. Eighteen boxes, stacked under a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY TYLER. Eighteen boxes guarded by nothing but a sleeping golden retriever and a grandmother with reflexes she'd heard were legendary. "The dog wakes up, we're done," she said. "I've read about that animal. His name is Biscuit and he once barked at a delivery man so hard the man apologized." "Which is why you, the llama, will walk over and gently arrange yourself between Biscuit and the presents. Llamas and dogs are natural friends." "Name one time in history a llama and dog were friends." "Name one time in history a llama stole eighteen presents. We're pioneering, Molly. We're explorers." She wanted to point out that they were not stealing all eighteen. The plan, the actual plan she'd agreed to at two in the morning over cold noodles, was to take six, the big ones with the shiny paper, because a child waking up to zero presents was a tragedy and a child waking up to twelve presents was a blessing in disguise. Bill had agreed. Bill, as usual, had agreed and then immediately begun elaborating. "Eighteen," he said now. "We take all eighteen. Tyler learns a lesson about materialism." "He's six. The lesson he learns is that llamas are thieves." "Which is also a valuable lesson." Across the lawn, a woman in aparty hat was pointing at Molly. Whispering. Molly froze, one hoof in the air. "I think the mother suspects me," she hissed. "Impossible. You are the most convincing llama in the tri-county area." "She's walking over here, Bill." "Then nuzzle her. Mothers love nuzzling." The mother arrived, squinted into the llama's mouth hole where Molly's face was doing its best impression of an empty barn, and said, "Huh. I don't remember renting a llama." Molly panicked and made a sound. It was not a llama sound. It was, unfortunately, the exact noise Molly made when startled at work, which the mother clearly recognized, because her eyes narrowed. "That's a rule for this party," the mother announced loudly, to no one in particular. "No costumes unless your invitation says so." Bill, dressed as a chicken by the fence, gave Molly a slow, horrified thumbs up with a wing. "New plan," Molly whispered. "Chicken exfil," Bill whispered back. "On my cluck." "Biscuit is awake." "Biscuit is awake." The dog stood. The mother turned. The grandmother cracked her knuckles. Molly looked at the eighteen presents, then at the fence, then at Bill. "We're coming back for Tyler's seventh," Bill said. "We are not." "Fine. His ninth." Molly sighed, the great sigh of a professional surrounded by amateurs, and began her very fast, very undignified llama waddle toward freedom.