I was unloading my laundry from my car when a pair of socks I had bunched into a ball got away from me and rolled down the hill. It was dark and I figured I'd look for them in the morning.
I'd forgotten about the socks altogether until I was walking up the path to my car. It was then that I remembered they'd rolled down the hill. I gave it a quick search, but I couldn't find them.
It was about mid-day when I realized that I liked those socks and I wanted them back. I walked the perimeter of the yard to find them. I didn't spot them right off. It wasn't until I widened my search that I discovered them. They'd been ravaged. I found one sock near the old vegetable planter and another sock at the bottom of the hill near the fence. I gave them a once over for any signs of life. They were dusty and full of fox tails, but it was my determination that they were still good. My thoughts turned to the viciousness of the attack. Those socks didn't have a chance, but somehow they survived. Coon-rats I reasoned. Sock stealers.
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