The Bloody Dog Got My Socks

There is a bloody dog living in my house. His name is Pudding. My sister brought him home one day when I was at work. My immediate reaction when I first encountered him was, "What's that thing?!"

He was only a mere 2-month-old puppy. But I swear he had multiplied in size since then.

This is what he looks like now.

Cute right?

That is what YOU think.

I was working at a bookstore and had to wear sneakers (with socks) to work. Every time I perched on the couch to put my socks on, he'd come sniffing around my feet, hopping up and down, hoping to sink his sharp, little crooked teeth into my socks. See that hole? I bet it was his doing. Every time I come home from work, I would take my socks off to put in the wash. And there Pudding is again, hoping, hoping, hoping to get at my socks. Might I just suggest we buy him a nice pair of socks to play with? But bah, he might choke on the fluff, or the wool.

Every time he sits on the doorstep, refusing to come inside, we would lure him in with a doggie treat. Brother dear sometimes uses my socks.

I don't get it, dogs and socks.

"Put It In Writing"

Brother dear and I were talking about my plans for the future. I told him I have always been interested in writing. But I can't really seem to find anything interesting to write about. Probably it is because I confine myself to my room.

And then he suggested that I should write a piece a day, never mind the length, knowing full well I don't have that much time on my hands. He said, "You can write about anything, even about "the bloody dog got my socks".

*Laughs* Well he does have a point. Let's see how this goes. No prize for guessing what my first piece will be.