"Hey, Mom, did you the laundry today?" asked my son.

"Hey, Mom, did you the laundry today?" asked my son.

"I do laundry every day," I told him. "I live to do laundry."

"Well, did you wash my socks?" he wondered.

"Did you put them in the hamper?"


"I don't recall seeing them," I admitted, shrugging.

He shook his head. "But I have no socks."

I looked at him incredulously. He owned about 10 pair of socks. He wore two pair every day: one for school and one for lacrosse. If he put them in the hamper, I would have washed them. That is, unless someone intercepted them and removed them from the hamper.

And that someone could only be ...

The Dirty-Sock Thief.

Yes, we had a sock thief living amongst us. By day he was a mild-mannered golden retriever.  But at night he transformed into a nefarious, four-legged, fuzzy sock thief.

What was worse than the fact that he stole the socks, however, was what he did with them once he had them in his possession:

He glommed on them.

For those who are not familiar with this term, to "glom" means to wrap your mouth around an object and drool excessively all over it.  And in case you were wondering, this is not a good thing. Especially if you are the owner of the item being glommed upon.

Typically when the dog gets his glom on, he limits it to one or two pair of socks. But apparently he had upped his nightly visits to the hamper and had made off with almost a dozen pair of socks right under our noses. Additionally, it would appear he had developed a specific taste for one person's dirty socks: my son's.

"I think the dog stole your socks," I said to my son.  "I'm not sure where they are, but you can bet when we find them, they will be significantly glommed upon."

He wrinkled up his nose. "That is so gross.  What's wrong with him? Who sucks on socks? Eww."

"We need to give him our compassion, not our contempt," I said gently.  "Clearly he has a problem.  I think he has to admit he has become powerless over socks and we need to get him into a 12-step program for sock addiction."

We went downstairs and found the dog curled up innocently in his crate. I called him to come out, and that's when we discovered the stash of glommed up socks in the back of the crate.

My son crawled into the dog's crate and started to retrieve the mass of socks. Then he turned and popped his "Good news, " he said. "It seems like he might be coming to the end of his sock stealing days."

"How can you tell?' I asked him.

My son grabbed something from the back of the crate and handed it to me.

"Looks like he's moved on to your underwear."

Tracy's new book, "Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir. How I Got Pregnant, Lost Myself, and Got My Cool Back in the New Jersey Suburbs," is now available. Get it on Amazon and everywhere books are sold.