I know my dog CP has an issue. I’m just not certain what the issue is. CP, as Constant Reader might remember, is the Cocker/Poodle/Whatever mixed breed dog I got from the shelter last summer. He is, to my way of thinking, patently adorable.

CP stands, variously, for Cutie Patootie, Cocker/Poodle or Crazy Puppy. Lately, I’ve begun to think the latter is the most apt.

CP has developed a sock fetish. It started out with him rooting around in my laundry basket and removing each and every sock to his lair on my bed. If the cat jumps on the bed, CP is on instant alert, growling low and as menacingly as someone that fluffy can. The cat just looks at him as if to say, “You are such a knucklehead.”

Of course, this is the same cat who brought me a slug for breakfast the other morning, so he’s really not one to cast aspersions. I guess he thought it was about time for some escargot.

CP doesn’t chew on the socks, he just nabs them. But if I don’t watch him every time I open the door to let him out, he dashes out with a sock in his mouth. I’m currently missing about six socks and I know they’re probably scattered all over the farm.

I took this photo last week after I had been messing with CP, taking all the socks from my drawer and leaving them all over my place, to see what he’d do. What he did was just about run himself ragged in his enthusiasm. I know this was bad and probably encouraged him in his bad sock behavior, but … I just wanted to see what he’d do.

I know one answer to this is to get a taller clothes hamper and I actually am looking for one. In the meantime, I decided this weekend that getting softer toys might make a difference. He’s a combo of a couple of different kinds of retriever and maybe he just needs a soft bird-substitute to carry around in his mouth.

I got three little stuffed animals at the pet store when I was in Kansas City on Saturday. On my way home I decided that it might make a difference if the toys carried my scent. So I stuck them up under my polo shirt and then got involved in listening to National Public Radio and completely forgot about them.

When I stepped out of the car at our local natural foods cooperative, I actually took three or four steps away from the car before little pastel stuffed animals began dropping out from under my shirt, as if I had just given birth to a chenille litter.

I looked around as I scooped them up, hoping no one I knew saw the whole thing and thought I’d stolen a bunch of stuffies. I didn’t see anyone, but I wonder if I’ve already started getting a reputation I don’t deserve. “I swear there must have been a dozen stuffed dog toys fall out of her sweater. She must have robbed a pet store. …”

When I got them home, CP was very happy with the toys and actually did play with them throughout the day. As soon as I started getting ready for bed, though, there he was, lurking and dashing out to grab the sock as soon as it came off my foot.

He added it to the little stash of stuffed toys at the end of the bed.

If anyone has any insight into this behavior and a non-lethal way of dealing with it, I’d love to hear from you.

Here I am, smack in the middle of an “I Love Where I Work” moment. At this time of year, I have a lot of those.

This morning a staff member for our sister publication, Mother Earth News, brought in his Barred Rock broody hen to be a foster mom for editor Cheryl Long’s fertilized Welsummer eggs that just arrived in the mail. As I got myself situated in my office, instead of hearing the usual coffee gossip, I heard the peeping of a brand-new chick and the oohs and aahs of co-workers peering into the box to get a glimpse of the mom and babies.

Throughout the day, the chicks have hatched and now we have six new Welsummers, ready to start their lives on Cheryl’s farm (and soon to produce those fabulous, dark-brown speckly eggs for which their breed is so famous.)

It’s like that around here. Every few days, someone in this building brings in a critter – often, these days, it’s Hank and his new puppy, Henry, who stole every heart on this side of the office the day he showed up looking for all the world like a baby hedgehog and not the ferocious Cairn terrier we’re assured he actually is. So far, poor Henry’s four little paws barely touch the ground when Hank brings him in because someone is holding Henry practically the entire day.

This time of year a lot of people are getting chicks and ducklings, so we’ll frequently hear lots of cheeping, since having chicks delivered to the office makes more sense than risking not being home when the USPS guy shows up. This year we have our famous Chicken Project, which Hank will talk about a lot more in his blog, The Daily Commute, and in the magazine, so I expect a whole lotta cheepin’ going on very soon. We’re testing incubators, brooders and, ultimately, for a few of our feathered pals, a plucker (I expect to be away on urgent business that day, thanks).

Puppies, kittens and stray animals of one kind or another are fairly commonplace. One spring, one of the women in Customer Care brought in her Babydoll sheep lamb twins, decked out in little disposable diapers to keep them socially acceptable. So far, we haven’t had any calves or piglets, but around here, you never know. I have threatened to have a metallic sign made for my car, “K.C.’s Roadside Rescue” for the number of stray dogs I pick up from the side of the road.

I do truly love working someplace where feathered and four-legged friends occasionally make up part of the workforce. This probably makes me functionally unemployable at most places on the planet. Good thing I love my job.

Come to think of it, my neighbors are getting some piglets in a few days. Hmmm … I wonder …

Chicken photos courtesy Troy Griepentrog; Henry photo courtesy Gina Souders.