Caught Red Handed

Look at this cute little shit. Say hi to your readers Chewie. I think he thinks he’s People, as he has rituals just like you and me (well, maybe not quite like me, as my rituals tend to make a lot of people go hmmm…). Every night within minutes of the Boy going to bed, Chewie comes into our bedroom with a mouth full of skanky teenager sock. Most nights I take it away from him, but as he doesn’t chew on them, but rather just snuggles up to them, I do not always do so. Like the Good Doctor (Seuss) said: “I’m a little weird and you’re a little weird…” Etc. if my pup wants to spoon with a reesty sock filled with stink of the day then that’s his prerogative.  

Incidentally, he will rarely take a clean sock or pair of socks, but always they are Ash’s. Apparently mine and Bear’s aren’t quite what Chewie is looking for in a skanky sleep talisman.  Last night he sniffed around on the floor, approached my socks that I had just taken off and looked at me as though to say, “Oh come on Agent Starling, you think you can dissect me with this blunt little tool?” Or for those who do not speak Hannibal, he may have been saying “it’s not you, it’s me. I just love what I love. Now put your nasty ass socks in the hamper while I go dig a little teen spirit out of the Boy’s room.”  Either way I think it comes to the same thing. 

My favorite part about this, by the way, is that he usually leaves them on or under Bear’s pillow. 😂😂😂.  And I didn’t even train him to do that. 


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