Like many great mysteries, this one started with a question. One day my husband Randy turned to me, “Have you seen any of my socks? A lot seem to be missing.” I had also noticed a number of his black “Fruit of the Loom Crew Lengths” had disappeared. There was one thing to do. We had to round up the usual suspects, or in this case…suspect.

We called over Libby, our Yorkie. Randy held up his sock. “Libby, do you know anything about this?”

She wasn’t the coolest criminal we’d seen. Her tan head drooped. Her big, brown eyes looked up beseechingly to Randy and then looked away, and then looked back. It was classic dog guilt.

As we’d learned over the years, Libby has a fetish. Her favorite morning activity is snuffling through Randy’s socks on the floor like she’s picking out her favorite melon at the market. She smells one and then the other, and then for reasons known only to Libby, picks one. She jumps on our bed, sock in mouth, and literally makes a meal of it, getting “chew drunk” as we call it, jaws working the fabric over and over, in a glazed-eyed stupor.

(Yes, for all Libby’s petite cuteness, we’re reminded from time to time she is a dog and as we know, dogs can be gross).

When we try and pull the sock away, she gives a loud, offended growl. To Randy’s frustration, we’ve picked up his socks after Libby’s been at them and they look like a family of chipmunks bit their way through. Holes are everywhere from sharp little teeth. (Of course, my husband takes all this very well).

To my relief — and yes, pride — my socks don’t attract Libby. They could lie on the floor all day and she’d trot right by them. But Randy’s? They seem too delicious to pass up. We’ve wondered: What is it about his socks? Is it the “bouquet?” The “full body?” Is it like a fine wine to Libby, full of the heady aroma of her master’s feet?

Strangely, Libby also loves watching Randy get dressed each morning. She’ll sit there as shirts and pants go on, like she’s watching her favorite TV show. Again, we’ve wondered what it is about this ritual that fascinates her, except…well, socks are involved?

Now we find Libby’s fetish has reached a new level.

The other day, I was sitting in the kitchen when she trotted from the laundry room with a dirty sock dangling from her mouth. She walked past me to her pink doggie crate, nosed the door open, and coolly walked inside. She pulled the door closed behind her.

Gathering my courage, I walked over to Libby’s crate and opened the door, not sure what I’d find. There, lying on the bottom were half a dozen socks and one of Randy’s large t-shirts.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. Now this fetish has gone beyond footgear to anything “Randy?” I pictured her dragging this unwashed tee from the laundry basket into the crate. The shirt is five times bigger than her.

Libby has become a hoarder.

Now every week I have to “toss” her crate (to use the parlance of “Orange is the New Black”) to see what contraband lies inside. Sometimes there’ll be a surprise – another one of Randy’s shirts – but mostly there are just lots of socks. (One time to my horror, I found a well-licked, sharp steak knife. I’ve also recovered chewed up packs of gum and lifesavers).

I can’t decide if I’m happy or insulted that Libby has no interest in my clothing. Maybe men emit more pheromones than women. Maybe Randy is just more interesting in an olfactory way. Maybe this is her way of keeping her master “close.” Whatever. I’ve learned not to take it personally.

Plus this situation might have one silver lining…

In a few months we’re taking a trip to Cape Cod and boarding Libby for a week, which doesn’t make me (or her) happy. I’d love to take her with us, but can’t.

So what’s the best way to make a Yorkie feel at home? Why lots of clothes smelling like Randy, of course.

And you guessed it. Socks… lots of socks.

Do your pets have any strange fetishes? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like, please share.

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