This week's column is a real steal

Ah, it's that magical time of year again when the leaves begin to change colors and a nip creeps into the air. Of course, I'm referring to Theft Season.

Apparently this is a big deal in my neighborhood, where in the past two months I've had three bicycles stolen.

Sure, they're just bicycles — one of which, as far as I could tell, was held together entirely by rust — but what's next, our beagle who pees in the house? (Please?)

Just kidding. Of course, I love both our dogs. Who are a little panicked, as evidenced by the fact that they have been doing that sideways-head-thing way more than normal. So I'm pretty sure they're taking the thefts hard. Either that or they think I keep saying the word "outside."

But I'm getting away from my point, and that is: I think people who commit petty larceny should get the death penalty. Or at least have to spend the weekend listening to Celine Dion CDs.

Now maybe you've had something stolen from you or maybe you have a friend who has, but I think this much we all can agree on: There is no weirder feeling than hitting your funny bone really hard on the corner of a table. Wait, no. There is no weirder feeling than being robbed. After it's over, you feel confused, violated and angry.

Of course the first thing you do when you learn something is missing is call the police. Unfortunately when that "something" is a Dora the Explorer limited edition Huffy, the police tend to start laughing at you. But thanks to a little thing called "federal law," police officers are required, by state and federal governing bodies, to pretend like they care.

As evidenced by this 100 percent, completely true conversation that happened in my mind:

YOU: "Yes, hi. I'd like to report a stolen bicycle."

OFFICER: "Do you have the serial number?"

YOU: "I'm not sure. Why, would that help?"

OFFICER: "Not really, it would just buy me some time to find my pencil so I can knock out this crossword puzzle."

Of course I am exaggerating. The police care, it's just that in terms of importance, finding a stolen bike ranks somewhere around prosecuting jaywalkers and writing tickets for running red lights (Does anybody get a ticket for this anymore?). Not that I can blame them. I mean, how do you tactfully go around asking 8-year-olds if the bike they're riding is "hot"?

But still, I'm upset, so I'm going to use the rest of this space to write a heartfelt letter to the person who took my bikes:

Dear Jerk,

Give me my bikes back.

Sincerely,

The Guy You Stole The Bikes From. Jerk.

So I figure that should do the trick.

I imagine all three of my precious bicycles will be sitting on my front porch first thing tomorrow morning. And as a thank you to the burglar who made the right decision to return them, my beagle will be waiting. To treat them like the dining room floor.

Bryce Donovan is offering a $1 million reward for his bikes (provided the briefcase he had containing $1 million is still strapped to the back of one of them). Share tips to their whereabouts at 937-5938 or bdonovan@postandcourier.com