My wife feels the cold more than I do and the doona tends to sneak over to her side of the bed. In all cases I know bar one (a Korean colleague of mine) this seems to be the case. So who steals the doona, you or your SO?
picmr
My SO, but he’s British, so he steals the duvet. And Americans steal the comforter.
(I expect you’ll get a lot more responses now.)
I was wondering. 
We solved that problem at the outset of our marrage. We have two sets of blankets in the cold weather. 
Since you’ve stolen the Scandihoovian word, steal the Scandihoovian idea too and get it right: one person, one dyne. Nobody can swipe anybody’s covers that way.
This is also a useful rule when one spouse needs a good feather-and-down dyne in cold weather and the other would drown in his own sweat if forced to use one.
BF steals the comforter. Gets himself all wrapped up in it then makes sleepy protest noises when I wake up freezing and try to get some back.
In my house, I steal the duvet. It’s usually okay because hubby is hot-natured and he is comfortable out from under the covers. I have that Stephen King-syndrome–I cannot stand for my feet to not be covered up!
heehee! Doona! Hehehehehe!!!
For centuries, the Kiwis point and laugh when an Aussie calls it a Doona, and they stare blankly back at us.
heehee! Well fie, fie, and thrice fie! Nyerrrrrrr. 
I resolved this long time ago: separate beds. I am trying to get some rest and I do not care to share my bed with someone who cannot stay still and is kicking like she’s being murdered.
He’s the thief!
I’ve often been accused by the SO of stealing the comforter, the afghans, the sheets, the quilts, the blankets, and sometimes the pillows.
Don’t know, it’s never seemed to bother me…
Ever stolen… let’s see… a TEDDY BEAR???
Never. That’s just downright mean.
It must be me, since my dogs don’t complain too much, and in my bed, it’s just us!
I steal not the bedding, but the space. I have been known to crowd him to the edge of a king-sized bed; I have acres of real estate behind me while he’s clinging to the edge for dear life, one foot on the floor. The poor dear doesn’t like to wake me up and shove me back, because I always have trouble falling asleep.
More often than not, I end up naked and afraid.
Next to me, Mrs. Nipples sleeps bundled and warm.
It all works out in the end though, cuz I poison her morning coffee.