🧦 The Sock Thief Chronicles

It started with a single missing sock.

At first, I blamed the washing machine. Classic scapegoat. Then I thought maybe I’d dropped it on the way to the laundry room. Totally reasonable.

But after the third “solo sock” incident, I began to suspect foul play.

Enter: Charlie.
A 2-year-old beagle with a nose for mischief and the stealth of a ninja.

I caught him red-pawed one morning, casually trotting across the hallway with a bright blue sock in his mouth like he’d just pulled off the heist of the century.

I said, “Charlie, DROP IT.”
He looked me dead in the eye… and ran.

From that day forward, it became a game.
No sock was safe — fresh from the dryer, under the bed, even mid-foot removal. Charlie was fast, cunning, and weirdly selective (he had a thing for fuzzy ankle socks).

I tried hiding them. He found them.
I switched to slippers. He stole those too.

Eventually, I gave up. Instead, I started tossing him [tough chew toy for dogs], and weirdly enough, that worked.
Now he’s got a stash of his own — and I’ve finally stopped replacing mine every other week.

We call him the Sock Bandit of Maple Lane, and honestly?
Life wouldn’t be the same without him.