Monday, November 22, 2010

My Name is Rosie and I'm an Addict

My dog has a pathetic quality about her.

I would like it if she was regal and confident.


She is not.

Instead she is needy, nervous, and bumps into things when she walks around the house in which she has lived for 3 years.

She is addicted to socks. Anyone's socks, but particularly Cole's socks.
Actually, I don't think she really has a preference, but Cole is not as diligent about making sure his socks are put away as Jim and I.
She is a sock caper.
No one ever sees her take them, but they end up either in her bed, or under our bed.
I think she would bury them in the yard if we would let her.
She doesn't chew them or damage them.
She just loves them.
She knows that she shouldn't take them.
When caught, she is always repentant.
But she is an addict, she can't help herself.

I think the socks help her feel a connection to the family.
Owning the socks boosts her confidence in some way.


Today, I found these socks in Rosie's bed.
The bigger sock is Cole's. The smaller is Stella's.
Stella has arrived in the family. Rosie has accepted her, and is willing to love her socks.

Now I need to pay attention to where I'm leaving her socks.

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