The Joy of Socks

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Most people have socks intent on escaping through the the washing machine plumbing, or which crawl off into corners, and fester, unnoticed, gathering piles of dust as camouflage. But not in my house. We have a One Labrador Sock Retrieval Machine. When we first got her (she is a rescue dog so her former life is murkily unknown) we soon realised that she had a bit of a thing about shoes, which she liked to collect about her, and snick her long labrador nose deep into. However, the shoes are as nothing compared with the socks. Over the months we have had her dog has worked out that the best socks are to be found in my son's room, though only an early morning raid before he is up will capture these as he tends to wear the same pair for day on revolting day. Occasionally if we have aimed our socks unsuccessfully at the laundry basket and not noticed, a late night raid can yield spectacular results. But we know this, and as she likes to puncture socks: not destroy, just puncture, our sock capture avoidance strategies have become much more efficient.

So what is a poor Labrador to do? Find the clean laundry basket and sort through it for the clean ones. They are, it seems, better than nothing. I give up.

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