“Miss, why do you always wear different coloured socks.”
“Why indeed! It’s because of the sock thief, Adam.”
First, the socks go into the washing basket. Then, they are loaded into the washing machine. Next, they are unloaded into the dryer, and finally, into the basket ready for distribution.
I pour out the contents of the laundry basket onto the bed, sort the socks and neatly match them into pairs.
Guess what? There is always one left sitting on the bed on its own. It looks at me. Why me? Why have I been singled out?
Where do it go? Could it be yet another sock-stealing dog? It was easy when Geli was alive. He loved to munch on a sock, and occasionally eat it. Discovering the missing sock was a gruesome sight…
(Ellipsis used…conjure the scene yourself)
No evidence of a sock-stealer in the two recent dogs. Time to turn detective. Blame the dog has been too easy.
Check the washing machine. No odd sock. Check the dryer. No odd sock. Check the washing basket; check the laundry basket; check the drawer; check other people’s drawers. No sign of the damn sock!
I have yet to discover the sock thief. It comes when you least expect it. I cannot predict where or when it will strike. Is there one sock-stealer or a sock–stealing gang operating in other people’s houses? One thing I know, the sock-stealer has been targeting my house for many years and I’ve yet to catch it. Oh well, another day of odd socks!
Alison Wilcox October 2020