Most days I’m working away in my office and Chloe is sitting on the window ledge behind me – watching for squirrels and barking at the occasional dog wearing a sweater that walks by. Then other times I’ll realize that she has snuck out of my office and I’ll hear something similar to a horse trotting through the house…
Trot, Trot.
Trot, Trot.
Trot, trot.
It’s a happy trot… almost a hopping, bopping, dancing trot – if I’m getting descriptive here.
And that happy “trot, trot, trot” only means one thing… Chloe has found a sock that she should not have. She snags them out of the dirty laundry, or off the table where we fold/stack our clean laundry (for way too long). She trots around the house with it in her mouth – whipping her head back and forth, and shaking that evil sock around like a rag doll. She owns that sock. That sock is HERS. And she wants to make sure the sock knows it.
This happens so often that James and I have finally put a name to this situation. We call it Chloe’s Sock Trot. 🙂
Every time I hear the telltale Sock Trot, I call her name (in my sternest voice) and come out to find her laying there – looking all guilty and slightly confused – with the sock laying beside her (as if she has no idea what it’s doing there).
Poor Chloe. If only she didn’t get SO EXCITED when she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing – she could actually get away with it! But that darn Sock Trot gives her away every time!
