🧦 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.
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