"My socks don’t match", said my husband while having coffee this morning. I silently thought to myself, Dem’s fightin words . Well, it didn’t turn into an altercation, just because, my mind was wandering. During our morning chat and before I downed my first cup of java, I was concerned that perhaps I shouldn’t be feeding the wild bunnies . Yesterday at suppertime little Maddie came gleefully racing and bouncing across the yard for his carrot feast. The coyotes have been hanging around too much lately. Could I be leading Maddie to his demise? My husband and I are going to attend a lecture given by wildlife agents this Saturday. They will discuss how we can deal with the variety of animals that dwell in our surroundings. I know I’ll hear that I shouldn’t be feeding our little madcaps. "Why do I have five socks that don’t match?", questioned my husband. Maybe it’s true. Washing machines do eat socks. "I have no socks to wear." he continued. Sensing that he was going to be relentless in this matter, I suggested, "Why don’t you wear two dark socks? No one will know it’s not a matching pair." I chuckled when my mind wandered back to when I was six years old, getting ready for school. This ‘sock thing’ stirred an old memory of me telling my mother ‘I don’t have socks.’ I was informed my socks were in the laundry, ‘wear your brother’s socks’. So, I, a little girly-girl, had to wear boys argyles to school. Suddenly, my apathy towards my husband’s dilemma turned to empathy. I went down to the laundry room to ferret out a pair of matching socks, all the while thinking, I hope the little bunny is around. Now that I have been out in the fresh air this morning, completed my barn chores, and saw that Maddie is still unscathed in his little world, I vow that my husband will always have matching socks. I love you, man .