My dog is a weirdo. Like a total freak. I can't begin to explain it. She's just mommy's little weirdo.
She has this thing for socks. My socks. Your socks. It doesn't matter. Scratch that. It TOTALLY matters. Because while she might decide to play with your sock if it's lying around unattended, and unfooted, in the living room (if you were say an eight year old girl visiting her relatives for the weekend and you forgot it, left it behind, and hey, at that point it's fair game), she won't actively seek out your socks. (Unless, of course, you're that same eight year old girl visiting her relatives, and then my little weirdo doggie isn't seeking out your socks, she's seeking out you, and she's on high alert, barking out her code, "Danger! Danger! Stranger! Stranger! Stranger! Evil!" Whether you are evil or not is not the issue here. To her, you are an unknown entity, and that means "BAD!"
On the other hand, if it's my sock, or more like a pair of my socks neatly folded together, in my dirty laundry hamper, which is kept tucked under the bed for space, tidiness, and aesthetic reasons with about three inches of clearance between the top of basket and the bottom of the box spring, well I can pretty much be guaranteed that at least once a week, my dog will manage to dig to the bottom of the basket, where I keep the whites, in order to dig out a pair of my socks, proceed to shake them until they are a messy ball of socks, and leave them somewhere strange--like the middle of my room in the hallway. If she's feeling less ambitious, she might just pluck the black pair of slipper-socks off the top of the pile, where I keep the darks, and play with that instead. One weird little doggie.
What's more, she feels the need to steal my toy! I have one toy left from childhood. Well, two, but one that lives with me permanently and spend most of its time lost in my bedclothes or under the bed itself, but which is mine. Totally, completely, unquestioningly mine. It does not matter to me that 19 years ago my evil grandmother's dog (or is it my grandmother's evil dog? hmmmm....conundrum) attacked this toy and tore the nose almost completely from its dear, sweet face. It's mine, and appreciated the nose that hung from a few bits of acrylic fabric stitched together. After all, 19 years ago that toy did battle with a minion of a force of evil and won!
So, it was a less than happy moment when I discovered my toy, not in its proper place against the pillows on my recently made and tucked bed, but at the foot of the bed, face down, the plastic nose next to it, and the plastic washer that had kept it in place all these years on the floor! It did not escape my notice either that being at the foot of the bed, it happened to be directly over the place where my feet, occasionally stockinged, rest while I sleep. Nor did it escape my notice that this place where I rest my feet during my nightly repose is precisely above the laundry hamper from which my little weirdo doggie regularly steals well concealed socks.
I guess I have to face the hard fact--my little weird doggi is fetishistic. She loves all things socks. She loves to steal anything sock related, and will even steal non-sock-related items and destroy them in sock-related places.
Now, it may be the case that there are those who would make the argument that she is a dog, a puppy even. And being a puppy, she is likely to get into all kinds of mischief, and it's perfectly normal for her to steal socks and chew on toys that look so much like the squeaky toys her loving mommy gives her to play with.
Not so, I would argue. After all, this is the second doggie to whom I have played doggie-mommy, and my first doggie never misbehaved. He knew that his toys were his toys. He knew that my toy was my toy. He knew that if a treat fell on the floor of our room, he wasn't permitted to touch it without permission. A small bit of Pupperoni once sat next to his food dish for close to a week, untouched, because I had told him he had to wait for his treat. It sat for so long because I'd forgotten about it. It wasn't until I saw it several days in a row that I remembered I'd not given him permission to eat it. Finally, I gave it to him, and he gulped it down, happily. He'd also had daily treats in the interim, but he never touched one without permission.
So, I say, "No," to those who would argue that she's just being a dog, because clearly anecdotal information proves that she is not being a dog. She's being a little weirdo doggie. But she has my heart. So, I reprove her. I discipline her when I discover her in the midst of naughty doggie deeds. I try to get her adequate exercise, though I honestly believe she could go all day and never tire. I try to train her. It's hard, though. Because she's so unlike my other doggie; and my expectations are high, and likely completely unfair.
I have a fetishistic weirdo doggie who loves all things socks. And I love my little weirdo doggie. Maybe I'll start a line of fetishistic weirdo doggie sock toys. Or fetishistic weirdo doggie foot wear toys. Just in case she develops and eye for my dress shoes. You just never know. Regardless, I love my fetishistic little weirdo. I wouldn't trade her for the world.