Sock it to 'em

(from my blog at pets.com)

Molly came bounding into the room last night, happy as a Viszla can be (which, apparently, is pretty darn happy) and I immediately knew from the look of her she’d discovered a sock. Prancing proudly in front of me, every fiber of her little red frame is boasting this amazing find.  Sighing because I know this routine quite well, I hold out my hand for her to deposit the soggy-but-otherwise-unharmed sock. She looks momentarily puzzled as I blandly thank her and put the sock out of her reach (apparently my enthusiasm leaves much to be desired), but shortly she’s bounding off, only to return 5, 10, 20 minutes later to repeat the entire Joy Dance of the Sock over again.

I don’t know where this fetish comes from, but Molly absolutely adores socks. Over the course of an evening—and I mean everyevening—Molly brings me upwards of five socks. Separately, of course. I’m not honestly even sure how she finds them, because I’ll think the house is sock-less and she’ll surprise me. I think she has a private stash…

I guess I should be grateful that she doesn’t eat them (except for once, sorry honey) and that she didn’t pick up my panache for shoes. But the apparently limitless ability she has to detect socks is uncanny at best.