Perhaps he's dumb as a rock.
We struggle mightily with keeping our male chocolate Labrador, Mosby, from eating socks. He most frequently snakes Crash's socks, we are not sure if it is ease of opportunity or a particular affinity. Crash is a typical 7-year old boy. He takes his socks off and leaves them strewn about. Mosby has also mastered removal of Crash's hamper lid, and he goes nosing around for smelly socks if he can gain access to the little man's room. He likes the other kids' socks as well, but they do a marginally better job of keeping them contained. Thus, our home has become one with a hallway of closed bedroom doors, in an attempt to keep the damn dog from ingesting something that may not find its way back out without surgical intervention.
Some families mysteriously lose socks in the laundry. We often find our missing socks in the yard, encased in Labrador fecal matter.
We have discussed the challenge with our veterinarian, and are always on guard, watching for the warning signs that a sock is stuck somewhere in his digestive tract. He was sympathetic, as he has a Labradoodle that noshes on his baby's socks. We were in agreement that the small socks are something of a blessing, as they seem to get regurgitated or expelled out the other end. The doc looked Mosby in the eye and said, "I don't want to see you in my O.R."
Mosby didn't take that to heart.
Boom was home from college for the weekend and, not being a full-time resident, she wasn't vigilant about keeping her socks out of reach. Her luggage was open on her bedroom floor, and Mosby was in top retriever form, grabbing her socks, demanding attention in return for the fact that his sister was up on Boom's bed with her. One minute Mosby was standing there with a wool sock hanging out of his mouth, the next he was gone down the hall, and we couldn't find the sock. The large, adult-sized wool boot sock. A sock that probably wouldn't pass as easily as a child's ankle sock.
We spent the next half hour walking Mosby around the yard, waiting for the hydrogen peroxide emetic to kick in. Eventually, it did, and out came half-digested Purina and TWO of Boom's socks. We hadn't even noticed the small black sock was missing until we saw it expelled.
He hasn't learned his lesson, as I pulled a baseball knee sock of Crash's out of his snout last night. He has expanded his horizons, though. We call him, 'The Dog Who Ate Christmas'.