Something grew deep within Mojo when we moved this year: He grew an absurd, yet amusing, sock fetish. He loves them. Clean or dirty, warm from the dryer, or cold from the freezer, they are his favorite. He of course likes getting Marley to play some good old vicious tug of war, but the real surprise is his level of exuberance when a sock presents itself. It's as if by just the mere sight of sock, a large dose of cocaine has just been shot directly into his heart. There was this one time, when I was sitting on the couch with socks on, and he tried ripping one off my foot....... bad story.
Here is the visual story called "Three Socks, One Love":
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