Weather's been spring-like these last three days - reaching a high of 13 - 14c (57f), so Tache has rediscovered the great outdoors after spending 98% of the past 4 months inside.
A glove had been lost on the edge of the sidewalk some weeks ago and I just left it out there thinking that someone might claim it. Since then we've had our only serious snow fall (15 cm, or 6 inches) of the winter, so these last few days have returned our world to the natural browns of a snowless dreary winter.
Anyways, long story just to come around to saying that the stray glove was mysteriously moved into the flowerbed next to the stoop since the start of the great meltdown of 2010. No proof as to the culprit of this unusual happening, except for the circumstancial evidence of Tache spending some 16 hours a day outside.
Until tonight ...
This evening, when entering the premises, Tache appeared to be stumbling. I naturally assumed that he had gotten into yet another scap with the big bully of the neighbourhood and had been hurt. He didn't head straight for his food bowl, as he would normally do, but instead retreated to a quiet space under the kitchen table. When I removed the chairs to get to him, I found a black sock (not much unlike mine, but not one of mine) next to him. He was not injured at all but rather had brought a sock ... not a mouse, not a dead bird, but a sock into the house.
Tache is a clothes hound retriever.
He then proceeded straight to his food bowl and all was right with the world, again.