Coscorro strutted into the forest clearing with a striped sock on his head and an ego that barely fitted between the trees. He'd folded the cuff over three times. The toe trailed behind him. He gave us a slow turn to show it off and nearly fell over when he trod on his hat.
“Don't all clap at once. You'll put me off.”
We'd nicked it from a basket of clean washing while a human was looking for the pegs. Just the one. We left its partner lying nice and flat, so you could spend half an hour shaking out sheets and blaming the washing machine. We were already heading into the woods with the loot over our shoulders. Yes, lovely people. We're cheeky little bastards.
The poor machine gets no end of grief. Apparently it eats socks. Hides them, too. Meanwhile, we're tucked up inside a sports sock with the heel for a pillow. Some nights we do feel a tiny bit guilty. It wears off as soon as we snuggle down.
There used to be a foot in that
Our sewing corner was full of socks turned into sleeping bags, hammocks slung between roots and a windsock that only worked when somebody blew into it. Brígida was darning a spotty one. Melitón had climbed into a woolly sock to check whether it was itchy and hadn't emerged for a while. Then we heard him snore. Test complete.
Coscorro wanted to take his new hat out for a stroll. Brígida offered to tuck up the trailing end with a few stitches, but he planted a hand on his hip and lifted his chin.
“Don't you dare. It's meant to fall like that.”
“So will you. Flat on your face, you prat.”
We followed because this was worth watching. He greeted the mushrooms, flicked his head to make the stripes ripple and told his hat to behave itself, for fuck's sake, people were looking. We had to hold up the end on the slopes. Stealing his outfit wasn't enough. Now we were carrying it for him.
A dog appeared on the path with its owner. It sniffed the air, spotted the stripes and started wagging its tail. Coscorro thought he'd finally found somebody with taste. He stepped closer. We were already waving at him to back off.
The dog knew that sock. And it knew the game.
So much for the bloody catwalk
It picked up the toe in its teeth and trotted towards its human. Coscorro clung to the cuff. First he walked very fast, then he started hopping, and finally he vanished right inside his hat. All we could hear was shouting from the heel. We ran after him, doubled over with laughter and trying to catch up.
“Drop it, you bugger! I'm IN HERE! IN HERE!”
The human bent down, delighted. There was the missing sock. He grabbed one end and the dog pulled the other. A little lump with two elbows appeared in the middle. Coscorro yelled for help, but Melitón was laughing so hard he had to sit down.
We got them to let go by throwing a pine cone for the dog. Coscorro shot into a fern, still wrapped in stripes. It took us a while to get him out. When his head finally appeared, his hair was plastered down, he had a leaf in one ear and he'd lost most of his enthusiasm for modelling.
“Shall I tuck that end up now?” Brígida asked.
Coscorro handed her the hat without a word. Then he looked at the dog, which had come back with the pine cone and a huge, happy grin. We scratched behind its ears. What else could we do? It was having a bloody lovely time.
It followed us to the clearing and sniffed our sleeping bags. We thought nothing of it. That night we went to bed exhausted.
We woke up on the human's doormat. Nine Magikitos, each tucked inside a sock, lined up neatly. The dog had returned the entire wash without waking us. Now it was looking at us, waiting for a biscuit.
A biscuit for evicting half the forest. Son of a bitch.
