Socks. There is nothing more she treasures more than socks. No, that’s not really true. She treasures the single sock; the pair seemingly redundant hold much less mystery to her. Our third dog, entering awkward adolescence, finds them in the staging area of laundry either done or ready to be cleaned. I’m not sure which she prefers. I’m inclined to think she likes them dirty. She seems to find no greater joy than a single sock dangling from her jaws. She treats it gently as if it might hold some precious life within like a female wolf might carry a newborn. (more…)