Within ten minutes, Ike found my sock and did his damage.
Bad Ike? No, this one's on me. I left Ike out. I left the sock out. Together. Ike + sock = chewed sock! Elementary, my dear Watson.
Ike likes his crate. Runs to it, actually. So since the death of the sock, we've been using the crate religiously. Even if I'm just going to check the mail.
Ike is safer in the crate. So are my socks.