hanky thief

I harbour a bad dog in my house. Sure she’s cute and loving and nice to have around n’all, but I think at heart she might be a bad dog.
It’s not that she pongs, is surly to just about everyone aside from a chosen few, is costing a mint in anti-anxiety medication (for her, not me) or that she sheds. That’s stuff we’ve grown to live with.
But it seems she is an inveterate hanky thief. She really likes ’em. She likes to chew ’em up and spit ’em out. She hides them in her little ogre’s den under Justine’s bed.
She’s not interested in any other article from the washing basket unless it’s given to her. No hanky, however, is safe when little Miss Maisie is in the vicinity.