You sigh. "Sorry, but you're too much trouble to run loose," you say gently. The cookies gasp in horror as you open the cookie jar. One shouts, "Wait! We can explain!" But it's too late—you carefully lower them inside and close the lid with a soft click. The cookies pace in circles, muttering about "injustice" and "crumb rights." You feel a tiny twinge of guilt as you hear one whisper, "I told you we should've stayed under the oven." Rex sniffs the jar curiously, then curls up beside it as if guarding them. You pat his head. "Good boy. You are on cookie security duty." You sigh, you're tired and it has been a long day. Maybe you'll let them out tomorrow—after a long winter's nap. On your way out of the kitchen you hear you hear a tiny voice call from inside the jar: "Please, we just want to see the North Pole."