Dogs and Soily Socks

Nanuq (AKA Nookie, AKA Baby Girl), came into our lives as a flea-ridden, tick-infested, worm-infected puppy. We got her the day after the first dog I have ever truly loved passed away unexpectedly. Husband-man was insistent, but I believe I said something along the lines of “you can get a new dog, but you can’t make me love it”.

Baby Nanuq
Nanuq on her first day with us… Wasn’t she gorgeous?

The breeder we got her from was somewhat… dodgy. She really wasn’t in very good condition and I couldn’t just leave her there as she scampered over to me all uncoordinated with a goofy look on her face. We “rescued” her, took her straight to the vet (who told us she had never seen such tiny ticks on a dog before), spent the next week pulling blood-sucking vermin off her, and called the SPCA on the breeder.

And she has turned into one of the brightest lights in my life.

A sleeping Nanuq
A sleeping Nanuq.
Nanuq on the beach.
Nanuq on the beach.

Despite my unconditional love for her, I am very aware that Nanuq is not perfect. She has always had a predilection (or perhaps it is an aversion) for footwear and bright colours. When she was a puppy she was always chewing on the heels of my shoes. And she never chewed a complete pair. It was always only one half of a pair. In fact, five years later, I still have a couple of shoes with teeth marks in them. She also once pulled husband-man’s luminous green hockey socks off the washing line and ripped them to shreds. And I think that must be where the sock addiction began. It hasn’t, however, always been limited to footwear. One morning I walked through to the living room and discovered the floor strewn with the bright pink petals of the flower plant that husband-man had recently bought for me. Apparently Nanuq had thought that the flowers looked either (a) yummy, or (b) ugly. Regardless of the reason, that plant was so traumatised that it never flowered again. Its pot now sits desolately in our garden.

But back to the socks.

We have often found socks, usually husband-man’s, lying around outside. Occasionally they are covered in soil. We imagine Nanuq playing this game with us, where she takes socks and buries them, and then when she thinks we aren’t looking hard enough for them, she digs them up and leaves them outside the front door for us. However, I had no idea just how bad her addiction really is…

On Tuesday this week, I got home from work and was told by husband-man to put my stuff down and follow him around back. He wanted to show me the tomato plant that has miraculously sprouted in a corner of our garden. While staring at it, I noticed the toe of a sock peeking out from the ground. And then I saw another one. We walked around to the front, and started looking more closely at the ground, and noticed another one, and another…

At first we thought that there were only (ONLY!) 13 socks. Then I discovered that one of the socks was actually a pair of socks, which took the total up to 14. And then, as I was going back inside, I saw a fifteenth sock staring at me from the soil.

Fifteen, well-soiled socks.

Fifteen soily socks.
The fifteen soily socks.

Thirteen of the socks were husband-man’s, and only 2 were mine. We have had some rain recently so I can only imagine that all of the socks that Nanuq has been dutifully burying around the garden had worked their way up to the top, much like worms do.

I’m going to have to deal with the cleaning process this weekend and see if I can match them up to the single socks that I have been keeping in the spare bedroom. I’ve always been a believer that if you have a single sock, you should just put it back into the washing machine and it will meet back up with its partner. Clearly, with Nanuq around, I need to revise that theory.

But, what is clear, is that your dogs best is ALWAYS good enough!

*~*~*

 

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One thought on “Dogs and Soily Socks

  1. So the day came in the fall to take down the easy-up swimming pool after a summer of watery fun. As I removed the flexible blue plastic liner from the brown, grassless soil it had interred for four months, my faithful friend Chuy came sniffing along behind me.
    Sure as heck, after a minute in the center of the dirt ring where the pool once stood, he sauntered forth with the piece of garlic toast he’d left there in June.
    Recalling stories like this brings him back in my heart and mind’s eye.
    Thanks for the reminder.

    Seek peace,

    Paz

    Like

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