Peg and the Missing Sock
On the edge of a sleepy village nestled between rolling green hills, there lived a clever border collie named Peg. With a black and white coat as neat as a checkerboard and eyes that sparkled with mischief, Peg wasn’t just any dog—she was the queen of the household, the boss of the back garden, and the undisputed ruler of laundry day.
Every morning, Peg would sit faithfully by the back door, watching the world wake up. She knew the routine by heart: kettle on, toast in, socks missing. Without fail, every day began with a sock gone rogue.
One breezy Wednesday, the mystery deepened. “I put them both in the basket,” Dad muttered, holding up a lonely blue sock. “I’m sure I did.”
Peg tilted her head. Did you, though?
With a happy bark, Peg sprang into action. She darted past the washing machine, through the flap in the door, and into the garden like a furry bullet. Tail high, nose twitching, she sniffed the air. Something smelt of cotton and adventure.
Under the rose bush—nothing. Behind the shed—just an old tennis ball. Then, finally, near the compost bin, Peg stopped. She pawed gently at the ground… and there it was. The blue sock, slightly muddy but otherwise unharmed.
Triumphantly, Peg trotted back into the kitchen and dropped the sock at Dad’s feet. He stared. “Peg, you little genius!” he laughed, rubbing her ears.
Peg gave a smug little wag. Of course she found it. She always found it. She was Peg the Sock Seeker, the Great Sniffer, the garden’s noble protector.
And the next day, when the left sock mysteriously disappeared again, Peg just gave them all a look that said: Don’t worry. I’ve got this.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 