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.