Not directly cruel...
My dad, after marrying his second and current wife (who bought my love with the best damn meatballs I've ever had in my gaddamn life)came into possesion of an incredibly hairy dog.
Once, he poured himself out a glass of beer, but left it precariously on a low coffee table whilst he went off to do other things.
When he returned, the glass was on the floor, but no beer could be seen.
The dog was apparently "acting funny" and "having trouble standing up" for the rest of the night.
The next morning, said dog was so hungover he stuck his head under their bed for most of the day, not moving, probably vowing never to drink again...

...but this happened a second time months later.
( Green Spanner and his magical lack of activity, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:43, Reply)

Sticks and stones
When the kids were small we had a lovely German Shepherd called Kayleigh (yes it was around 1985 and she was named after the Marillion song but not by us (we had rescued her from my brother in law))

Being less than a year old she was full of fun and was never satisfied when out for a walk when it was time to go home. She used to think the whole coming-back-to-her-owner-to-be-put-on-a-lead was a big game and would come bounding up to me until she was just in range before veering off and running away. It got so I would take her for hour and a half walks: half an hour walk followed by an hour of catching her. I couldn't just give up and walk home without her on the lead because we had to cross a busy road and I didn't want to be scraping her off the tarmac.

I would chase her, but she out ran me.

I would fall over and stay still and then, when she came over to make sure I was really dead I would make a grab for her collar, but she had faster reactions than me.

I would call her in a variety of different cadences, sounding like some over enthusiastic loon but she would just cock her head to one side and look at me as if I had gone mad.

I would throw a stick so that when she brought it back I could attach the lead but she took to dropping the stick about six feet from.

Then I had the great idea of throwing stones for her. I gathered a handful of stones and threw one. She chased after it then came back. I threw one so it landed nearer and kept throwing stones until they were landing a couple of feet from me. Then I would pounce and grab her collar.

This worked better than intended because after a couple of days I threw a stone intending it to land about twenty feet away and missed, hitting Kayleigh on the side of the head. She yelped and then came straight to me. From then on she came straight away whenever she was called.

I actually started to miss the challenge of catching her.
(bald old git was bemused and befuddled on, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:41, Reply)

Boiled fish
My parents had a huge fish tank in the living room before I was born. They had loads of expensive tropical fish in it. My dad decided the tank needed a good scrub, and new gravel, and a new diver or whatever, and transferred the fish into a bucket. They were cheerful enough - but 'oh no', he thought, 'I mustn't let them get cold!' So he then put the heater thing for the fuck-off-massive tank into the tiny little bucket and set about the long-ish task of cleaning out the tank.... oops.
(hello_kitty_litter, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:38, 1 reply)

My family are mostly dog lovers
only initial surprise then that my mum ended up leaving a pretty high paid job in which she was regularly head-hunted to run all the big projects, to become a dog groomer- for whom people travel from miles around. But those are stories for another day.

They have had dogs since I was about 8 and have had many an adventure, but a few instances of accidental cruelty stick in my mind.

* The time that their dopey doberman became interested in stones thrown into the sea. This was a fine game indeed, find a pebble, call her name, chuck it into the sea and watch her furiously try and sniff it out (spluttering if she timed dunking her snout underwater wrong) before spotting that you have another and instantly losing interest and running back to try and catch that one...only the game evolved, to ever bigger stones, and on this fateful day a large rock about the size of a hand was being thrown, and unfortunately the poor girl spotted it before she was supposed to, resulting in a doberman intercepting a large and heavy rock straight in the smacker.

She knocked out all of her front teeth, but that was only discovered when getting back to the car as she hadn't even flinched, just proudly jumped around her catch, seemingly oblivious to the fresh gap in her gums.
She was (of course) taken to the vets, but the teeth had been knocked pretty cleanly out so not much could be done really and she was absolutely fine, never seemed to bother the eejit :)

* My dog, not the smartest in the world, not the stupidest...but also has his Dope Award moments. We used to play the classic game of 'catch your tail', which he'd humour us with briefly then move on. Until the fateful day my mum decided to hold his tail for him, trying to eek a few more minutes of tail chasing out of him. He happily chased it around a bit, my mum moving with him, but then all of a sudden he had a burst of enthusiasm and leaping forward he grabbed for his tail.

That yelp made me feel like the shittest owner ever, and the hurt expression he gave us was heart breaking. He'd managed to dislocate his own damn tail and it was crooked for weeks :/

* My dog again. He's a very well behaved dog, though not rigidly trained, there's some debate about the level of training dogs need but I must admit that I'm quite happy with his, he knows his place and when you call him on something he knows when to stop fucking about and take you seriously, but he has a real mischievous streak and a whole lot of personality for a dog. One thing he learned pretty early on is that food isn't his until it's given to him, you can drop the tastiest thing ever in front of him and he'll just stare rigidly at it, occasionally glancing at you to find out its fate and only going for it if you tell him 'ok'. Though it was never tested too thoroughly with us out the room the boy knew not to steal food either so we were pretty much covered on all bases.
The accidental cruelty came one night when we were having a bit of a late snack, none of us being hungry enough for a full meal. we went through to the utility where the big fridge is and loaded our arms up with a few choice bits, cheese, tasty condiments/pickles, left over meats (you get the picture) and retired to the living room to consume them. The dog followed us in to check it out but soon left again, knowing that he wouldn't get ANYthing if he sat and watched, we all assumed he had retired to his basket to wait for any left overs we might be inclined to share...only he hadn't, not quite. Periodically he kept wandering in to the room and staring at us, kind of hopefully, noticing the looks of 'out!' and wandering out again, but he kept coming back! ever more desperate look in his eyes each time. The last few times I could hear quiet whimpers as he approached and left.
There was nothing noticably wrong with him, and eventually he retired to his basket and stayed there, not quite settled but at least not upset, and we locked him in the utility where he sleeps and all went to bed ourselves.

When I came down the next morning I was met at the door by a large, frantic and ecstatic canine! as I turned the corner with him bounding around me I finally found out why...there on the floor, underneath the fridge and not two feet from his basket, was a large chunk of ham. Untouched.

Remembering his doggy lessons he had resisted snatching that succulent treat, right from when it had been dropped unseen from our late feast, through the hours of us sat downstairs ignoring his pleas, right through the night as he tried to ignore its tempting aroma right by his nose.

Needless to say, serious praise was inflicted on him and the tortorous ham became his own private feast, fusses were aplenty that day :)
Since then we have become aware of his 'Lassie' actions and come to understand what it means when he comes to find us out with that hopeful look in his eyes and meaningful whimper, if you follow him he will show you exactly what he's asking for, and though he doesn't always get it it's certainly a useful communication for us.

/about 6 by 4" and honey-mustard glazed
( Jessie © needs pirate name suggestions, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:37, 1 reply)

Accidental Cruelty, lies, Guilty confessions...
This could fit into any number of topics..

Anyway, About 10yrs ago I was looking after/staying at my grandads house while he was away on holiday (now dead. RIP granda). My simple task was to stay over night so that he didn't get broke into and feed his pet budgie that couldn't fly properly and had a crippled foot (or whatever you call birds feet).

The budgie was so lame you could let it out of its cage and it wouldnt escape. It would climb up the curtains using its beak and one good foot then let go and try to fly - usually making it half way across the living room before landing like it had took flying lessons at an al Qeueda training camp.

So the first day the old guy was away me and my mother did the glossing in the living room for him and then on the night my and a few mates went out on the lash.

After many pints and more that one herbal cigarette we headed back to my Grandad's house with food to sit, eat, watch crap on TV and maybe have another herbal or two. I got in and let the budgie version of tiny Tim out of its cage then went into the kitchen for a plate for my special fried rice and curry.

Plate in hand i heads back into the living room and plonks my fat ass down on the chair, ate my food watched some TV then rolled a couple of J's. After about an hour I realised that Budgie Tim was no where to be seen - now this, being my grandads closest thing to company, was enough to snap me from my drunken/stoned stupor to look for the little beggar.

I searched the kitchen, hallway and even the bedrooms but couldn't find it.. I was panicking that it had somehow got out and would get eaten by a cat due to its inability to fly or even hop very fast.

It was about this time I heard one of my mates say "Hey, i found the budgie". Relieved as hell I went through to the living room glad I wasn't going to be the person who lost the budgie. What I saw was not good...

I hadn't lost the budgie. When I had went into the kitchen Budgie Tim had done his climbing up the curtain then flap away trick, landing on the seat. When I had walked in the room and plonked down on the seat I had accidentally SAT on the poor little thing!!

So there I stood with a budgie in my hand that had been squashed to flat I could have fit it in the toaster and one of my mates suggested that we try CPR on it... needless to say this was relatively unsuccessful so we did the only good and decent thing to do - we opened the cage, placed it on its pirch and let go so that it fell to the floor of its cage and the next day I rang me mam and said I woke up to find it dead.

To this day my mother thinks that it was the fumes off her doing the glossing earlier in the day that killed Budgie Tim where as it was really my drunken ass that was the murderer, sorry mam.

Oh, and when i was a toddler watching my mother cleaning the windows I decided to help and clean her fishtank - by pouring in a bottle of Windowleen.. Cue all the fish's floating upside down at the top of the fishtank.
(three inches of snarling death, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:32, 3 replies)

Christ where do i begin......
My family are originally from Nepal, where we own a farm. We often go back to Nepal on holidays. I have somehow manage to abused or injure pretty much every animal in one way or another.

When I was 3/4ish it was my first trip to Nepal, from being a kid in shit one room studio flat with shared toilets, I was transported to a massive open house with my own animals.

I went a bit mental and hyperactive.

We have a tortoise; I used him like a racing car. I used to push him along the ground and race him around the building, making all the car noises¡ vrooommmm, screech etc etc etc, having lots of fun. The poor little bastard had the bottom of his shell horrendously scratched and he lost all nails (claws?) bar one. I went to Nepal a few years ago I was 20 he was still there with no nails and still scarred and scratched, I apologized to him sincerely.

We had (keyword here had) a couple of rabbits, I used to swing them about and play with them like action figures and make them hit each other. Pow pow your dead, apart from causing them severe mental trauma. I put the rabbits down a bit of pipe (you know the type that runs down the side of your house) pushed them through the pipe, it was only about a foot or so long. The pipe was far too small and dirty. After pushing them down the length of the pipe they emerged; bleeding down their sides, head their ears were cut badly, their nails buggered. One of the rabbits died from his injures after I left.

My uncle bought about 20 or so chicks. The little yellow ones that chirp, really cute ones that make you go awe. They were in a large open top boxed under the sun, there was a bowl of cornflower which the chicks can eat. Me being young I thought they might be thirsty, so I added another bowl of water. Big mistake¡ basic science here, flour and water when mixed act almost like glue. These being chicks only a few days old, were covered in the mixture and were stuck to each the side of the box couldn't move, they couldn't stretch there little wings, some chocked on the dough, a few couldn't even open there beaks. They all died.

My uncle bought another 20 chicks. I did the same again. They all died.

Pissed off by now my uncle bought a few more. I gave them water when he wasn't looking. They all died.......again. I was told off and smacked. :(

In my defense I thought they were thirsty.

We had this massive cockerel, whose leg was tied to a bit of string attacked to a fence post. It allowed him to graze without escaping. I used annoy him by sneaking up, kicking him, shouting at him, throwing things at him and running away out of his reach when he tried to chase me. This went on for about 3 weeks. Then one day I find he isn't there. That's odd, but being young I thought nothing off it. That night we had chicken for dinner, which was strange because 90% time we just ate veg. I connected 2 and 2, it was the rooster we were eating. I didn't eat any of the meal. And felt really bad for making his last few weeks hell.

I also threw rocks at cows and goats, from 5/6 story building. I used like chasing and kicking dogs on the street.

I am a bastard.

Theres more but i might post them later.
Edit slight grammer change, it doens't like copying pasting from word.
(Poo_Pipe_Pirate, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:31, 11 replies)

Me and my Dad...
...Once invented a game called Dog Arse Ball. The rules were simple. Who ever could kick the ball at the dogs rear end the most times without getting mauled to death was the winner. My little brother didn't understand the rules, and ran at the dog and booted it. I think I saw his foot disappear up the dogs arse for a moment!

My darling friend Charlotte once pulled off her rats tail when she was cleaning out the cage, and Ellie (My new girlfriend!) once fed her fish to death.
(Demagogue69 did your grandad 3 times., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:30, 1 reply)

Not unintentional...
...but more based on the base stupidity that is the hallmark of all chavs. This can't have happened much more than a year ago.

I was in my study (get me) generally farting about one weekend afternoon when I heard some shouting from outside my window, so I got up to have a gander. I saw some chav on a quad bike shouting obscenities at his young staffy bull dog, which he had attached to the back of the bike with its leash. He was frustrated that every time he put the revs on, the dog put its own brakes on and was not keen on keeping up the pace that the machine was capable of. Who'd have thought?

I watched him start and stop three times over about twenty yards with the dog demonstrating each time that it was, quite justifiably, not keen on the idea at all. The third time this chavvy prick got off the bike and started beating the poor mutt. It was obviously getting a bit pissed off by this time, and I heard it snarl at him and he reared back (demonstrating another mainstay of the chav philosophy, cowardice). It was at this point I chucked my two pennies' worth in:

ME: {bellowing from second-floor window} G'WAAN, BITE HIM!
HIM: {looking up} Mind your own fucking business, nob'ead
ME: Fuck you you thick cunt - poor little fucker could rip your throat out and I'd still cheer it on. What the fuck do you think you're doing anyway, dragging an animal behind a motorbike? Wake up!

He didn't seem interested in continuing the debate, either verbally with me or physically with the dog. Muttering, he unhooked the leash and turned the bike around, most probably to drop off the bike or the dog before setting out to wherever he was supposed to be going.

Chavs - practically worthless in every way. EDIT: Whilst alive, at least, yeah :)
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:29, 2 replies)

Not me, but
Whoever invented this has got to be so stupid they didn't realise they were being cruel to dogs.

news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/2196707.stm

Hint: what's a dog's strongest sense?
(Marmite Omelette ...but I feel better having screamed, don't you?, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:27, Reply)

Driving to Thetford
Last summer I was driving to Thetford Forest with my friend Ben. Before the inevitable dogging theories start, I should point out that the car was also carrying two mountain bikes on a large rack affixed to the boot.

This large and ungainly bike rack is pivotal to the story however.

Having £3k of bikes strapped to a rack which cost a cool £28 from Halfords meant I was less than confident about throwing the car around the bends. Indeed, I was driving fairly carefully, less I leave a very expensive lump of aluminium and carbon in the road behind me.

The roads to Thetford are long and straight, which is a blessing when you have a Toyota Starlet driving coffin dodger pushing 35mph in front holding you up - as I had. As roadside lynching is bizarrely illegal - even in Suffolk - overtaking was the order of the day so I dropped a couple of gears and passed the old giffer safely, whilst ensuring my precious cargo wasn't launched off the back of the car.

The road was long and straight, I could see about a mile ahead. I couldn't help but notice a reddy-brown shape appear on the right of the road and slowly make it's way across. I looked down at my speedo. 75mph. Whoops. I lifted off the throttle. The reddy-brown shape falls into focus as a pheasant and clearly a pheasant in no particular hurry.

65mph... 60mph... I'm letting the engine slow the car down.

Mr Pheasant is getting closer and oblivious to the howling red saloon car bearing down on him. All of a sudden, my feathered friend picks up speed and walks on. I calculate that I'll miss him without swerving over to the right. Confidently I put my foot down.

*whump*

*feathers*

Oops.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:27, 18 replies)

I heard a terrible one last night...
My son said that this happened to the uncle of a friend of his.

He was driving along and he hit a cat. Being a basically decent person, he pulled over immediately and went back to check, and found the cat lying there and not moving much. He thought that the best thing to do was to put it out of its pain, so he got a baseball bat from the car and finished it off.

He took the car to a garage for some work and the mechanic looked at the car and said, "You hit a cat."

"How did you know that?!?"

"It's still in the grille..."

So the guy had beaten a cat to death who had merely been taking a nap.

I don't know whether to laugh or track the guy down and beat him with his own bat...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:23, 5 replies)

Terminal Velocity
I had a succession of guinea pigs when I was a kid. They all died of various causes, but saddest of all was the white albino one (can't remember its name) who tragically died in a freak parachuting accident.
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:23, Reply)

When I was a lad...
We rescued a tiny little kitten from the animal shelter, being the youngest I was allowed to name him and chose 'Dexter'. Dexter was the cutest little ball of fluff you could ever see, and was always up for a game.

His favourite toy was a rolled up ball of paper, that you could play 'football' with him and he'd spend hours chasing this ball wherever you kicked it.

On Christmas eve one day, I was playing this game with Dexter in the lounge. We both went in for the ball, it was a 50-50, I was entitled to go for it, but ended up standing on his head. Not too hard but he definitely felt it. I didn't think too much of it and after a quick check to see if he was ok, we sat down and watched some quality TV together.

Over the next couple of weeks, Dexter became more and more recluse. He would spend all his time curled up in a ball on the bed and would cry everytime someone came near him or touched him. This was so unlike him so my Mum took him to the vet.

After keeping him in for a few days, there was nothing that could be found wrong with him. The vet suggested one more test and it was revealed that Dexter had a tumour in his tiny head that was literally stretching his skull - resulting in a permanent headache.

There was nothing else to be done for the little fella except for him to be put down.

So Dexter, I don't know if I had anything to do with it but I'm sorry little guy - you're sorely missed.
(gin'll fix it, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:23, 2 replies)

When I was a young-un ...
Our local farmer got himself a donkey for reasons known best to himself. Having spent many a summers afternoon feeding his horses I decided to be nice to said donkey and feed it as well. Big mistake. They don't share the same temperament.

Having given the donkey what I considered 'enough' of the bag of food I'd brought I turned to walk away. Donkey saw there was still food available and wanted it, so bit me on the shoulder. I turned and gave it a stern slap across the snout (I was only 7) and told it to behave.

Apparently, while this works on wayward cattle and horses, it isn't a good idea to spark one on donkeys. They tend to fight back. I don't know who was more shocked, the donkey at being lamped, or my mother for the fact I got away with it ...

Cruel? Yes, the little bugger left me with a bruised shoulder (but pride intact).
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:17, 1 reply)

Rat Dogs and screen doors
A whole bunch of years ago, I visited a pal in The States - on Whidbey Island, North of Seattle - my friend at the time owned a curious hybrid chihuahua/thing that had a weird bent face and looked bizarrely like a deer which she had named 'Sheila'.

Now my pal worked as a teacher in the local high school so for a couple of days I was left to my own devices during the day, and I would generally fall into the routine of brewing some coffee, opening the patio door, closing the screen door, chilling for the morning, hitting the town later for a look around and some lunch and coming back about the same time as 'S' got in from work.

Now 'S' had this habit of greeting her dog by shouting "C'mon Sheila! Go Potty!" and by the time the dog had bounded downstairs, she had the patio door open and the dog could go out and relieve itself.

'Cept of course I'd closed the screen door.

SKaaaaaaaaaBOING!!!!!!

You'd swear a dog could fly. Backwards. At some considerable speed. And for about 8 feet, too :-)

The first time was definitely an accident, so that's gotta count, right?

The second and third time? Well...they were accidental too!

No.

Really! :-)
(TC, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:11, Reply)

Hamster in High Impact Collision
Not Richard Hammond star of BBC2's Top Gear but a REAL hamster, who we shall call Dinky (for that was it's name).

In the mid 90s my friend Clare had a hamster called Dinky. She adored the little thing, letting it run free (i.e. shit and piss) on her bed, bought it a shed load of accessories and spoke to it using infuriating baby talk.

However after yet another afternoon of being stroked and manhandled Dinky decided it'd had enough and demonstrated the fact by biting Clare hard on the finger. Feeling the needle teeth, she pulled her hand away as fast as possible dragging the hamster through the air in a wide arc.

It was at this point Dinky decided that quite unlike the Top Gear presenter, speed was not it's favourite thing in the world and let go.

Who knows what was going through Dinky's mind as he soared through the air, out of Clare's bedroom door. I wonder what it thought of the sensation of freefalling down the flight of stairs outside her room? I hope I never experience the sickening thud of fuzzy pet hitting solid wall.

It survived, but not for long. Two days later, after shuddering and lying in it's cage for 48 hours, presumably haemmoraging furiously, Dinky died.

This didn't discourage Clare who since this episode has owned another hamster (now deceased in a less horrific manner), a rabbit and a puppy. I hear that the dog is her new surrogate child, and she has already bought it a bagful of colour co-ordinated accessories (matching her car interior) that travel with her like a baby's nappy bag.

I'm hoping for a better outcome for this pet.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:07, Reply)

This one was accidental, honest
Back in my teens we were the proud(ish) owners of an abso-frigging-lutely huge BFO tomcat - he had had his spuds lopped but quite late, so he was built like a bulldog but was reasonably chilled out.

Bear in mind this cat had taken been hit by cars twice (we lived on a main road and he used to go and sit on the white line to watch the pretty traffic as a hobby), had acid gunk dropped on him when he broke into a building site, fought, killed and eaten almost every species of mammal resident in the UK and even fought a deathmatch with me over custody of the pet rabbit.... this was a take-no-prisoners blokey cat. With absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever. The vet wouldn't examine his teeth without a general anaesthetic, this was how hard this cat was in his prime. Think Greebo but in black.

Did I mention the lack of sense of humour? Good.

Now at the time we also had a tank of goldfish of various wierd shapes and colours. All the bits, nice rocks, plants etc to keep their tiny fishy brains amused. Said tank being placed on a deep windowsill - looked luvverly. Now you would think that this is going to lead to a tale of fish slaughter, but no.

Monster mog had discovered that the strip light in the lid of the tank made a pleasant warm spot where he could lurk at his ease, looking out of the window in case a deer wandered past that he could savage (about the only one he never got). The lid did buckle a bit under his impressive musclely bulk, but hey ho. Truce between cat/fishies.

Now the only way for him to get to his perch was to jump onto the seat, then the back of a big armchair just below, and then launch himself with the grace and charm of a gutshot warthog onto the tank. Once the fish had stopped vibrating, all would be calm except for occasional burping and/or purring.

So, if for example you are cleaning said tank and have wandered off to have a fag break or summat, leaving the lid off and the chair pushed back a couple of feet for access and wander back to find said puddy spread-eagled across the tank (fair play to him, he had managed to get 3 paws and one chin onto the edges) like a hairy starfish... do you (a) rescue your beloved obese pal with no delay or (b) laugh hysterically for some time and allegedly prod him up the bum to see if he'll fall in properly.

Don't think he ever forgave me. Sorry Tinker.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:05, 2 replies)

My cousin shut his cat's tail in the door once.
It came off O_o
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:05, Reply)

pigeon spanking
after a long heavy night out, both in the pub, and at our friend's house, I decide that my rediscovered sobriety and the impending sunrise must mean its time to head home. Obviously, having a car means you're prone to being coerced into driving people home. Like Billy, who happened to live out in the sticks.

So, I drive him home without incident, leaving me and Dave to head back to civilisation.
on the way back, we round a corner to notice to see the early birds picking at that nights crop of roadkill. You know the sort of wannabe vultures: magpies, blackbirds, crows... and one lone pigeon.

Now, i have a habit of driving fast on quiet roads (not above the speed limit though, officer), and these birds seem aware of the fact, and scatter off towards the roadside.

except for the pigeon.

obviously high on some kind of avian crack or PCP, it decided it can outrun me, while remaining at windscreen level.
Clearly no one told it that it can't fly at 55mph

the windscreen made contact with the pigeons arse *THUD* and sent the winged rat tumbling over my roof, onto the road behind

we spent the remainder of the 10 minute driving trying not to piss ourselves from excessive laughing

length, girth, etc
( lo, the Greebo Warrior - Est. 2002, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:05, Reply)

Small dog + microwave = splat
These have probably passed into folklore or urban legend territory by now, but I seem to remember the story of an old dear who returned home with soaking wet small-make dog, and decided that the best way to dry him would be to pop the little darling into the microwave and give him a quick blast...

Or the short-sighted sod who tied their dog to the rear bumper of their car while they went shopping ('cos dogs die in hot cars, dontchaknow). Only to forget it was there when they drove off afterwards...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 13:03, 3 replies)

I am not going to tell the Cunt Horse Story.
As it wasn't accidental. I fucking meant it.

The cunt
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:59, 4 replies)

Rabbitocide
My dear mother decided to clean my rabbit's cage with Domestos, resulting in two fluffy bunnies gassed to death.
(Chillumm, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:57, Reply)

More hamsters
Me and the ex used to have a hamster that we would let run around on the living room floor. He seemed to enjoy it, and even better, didn't nibble at electrical wires or chew the carpet. He was a happy little soul, and we loved him.

So one day, he's running around, doing his thang, when he suddenly made a beeline towards the heater. At the time we had one of those bloody awful economy 7 wall heaters filled with bricks, which was attached precariously to the wall. And had a gap between the wall and the heater...

Geoffrey (for 'twas the hamster's name) was on a mission - ooh, a new place to explore, 'ave it - and before we could do anything he'd somehow leapt the six inches or so from the carpet to the heater, got a foothold on a ledge, and proceeded to wriggle into the gap between the heater and the wall.

Unfortunately, the heater was on at the time. Full.

It very quickly became apparent that Geoffrey, being a fat little bastard, had got stuck about halfway along, and could neither wriggle forwards nor backwards. He was being roasted alive, the poor little fucker, and we were powerless.

Until I remembered I was the proud owner of an 18 inch ruler. I grabbed the ruler, and managed to push poor Geoffrey along with my mighty 18 inch implement, until he popped out the other side and collapsed, gasping and weak.

Unfortunately, during his escapades, he managed to have his ears almost totally singed off, and the fur on his back was totally burned away, leaving about 60% of the flesh exposed. It was touch and go, so we got him straight to the vets, where he was kept in overnight.

We collected him the next day, and were given a jar of cream to apply to his back daily to counteract the burns. Within a couple of weeks he had made a full recovery, and his fur had mostly grown back (but not his ears, sadly). He lived to the ripe old age of three (which is postively geriatric for a hamster).

And the moral of the story..? Economy 7 heaters are EVIL!!!
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:54, 2 replies)

Shameless Pet Stories Re-Post:
A friend of mine...

...owned a sweet but particularly stupid Alsatian/Collie mongrel called Cannie. One evening as young ne'er-do-wells, we were sat in his living room smoking suspiciously long and fragrant cigarettes whilst his folks were out.
It was someone's turn to do the honours, so our stash was passed from our host at one end of the sofa to my brother, sat at the other end. During the exchange it dropped into the lap of our host's then girlfriend (who was also particularly stupid, but that's another story). She stood up and the stash, a small amount of resinous substance, fell to the floor where said dog didn't miss her chance to bag what must surely be a tasty snack.

Dog pounced on stash - smokers pounced on dog but to no avail - dog swallowed stash. We waited. Sure enough, dog's behaviour gradually started to become more peculiar until we thought she should walk it off. Once outside Dog goes mental and f*cks off at high speed until after much chasing, substances and gravity eventually take their toll and she falls on her face. Deciding she's had enough we ventured back inside. Our host says the dog sat in the corner of the room for the rest of the night whimpering and staring at him with sad but menacing eyes, quote: 'as if she wanted to eat me'.

The same animal also once thought Pineapple scented hair conditioner would make a tasty treat. She spent an afternoon throwing up bubbles onto the kitchen floor.

Length? Six feet under.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:52, Reply)

We had a crappy little mongrel dog called ‘Dog’ (Thanks to ‘Good Omens’ by Terry Pratchett).

Now Dog was gayer than Sparky from South Park. By jingo he loved the crack. Embarassing to take for a walk, this was the undercracker-eater who was thicker than a randy whale’s cock.

This story doesn’t involve drinking, smoking or blowbacks by the way…well…not directly.

In the early 90’s, I was at the age when my loving parents would fuck off on holiday and leave me to dog-sit. They would hope to shit that I would throw a party, because they knew that my post-party clean-up job would leave the house in a better state than they had left it in. Result.

Anyhoo, their plan worked perfectly and first weekend, the party was on. Pissed up people aplenty it was going full swing.

Sweet Jesus knows why, but someone cropped up with an idea. ‘Wouldn’t it be great’ they slurred, ‘If we got out the video camera and filmed us all pissed, that would be soooo funny when we watched it tomorrow’.

Everybody agreed. Everybody laughed. Out comes the camera.

So a bit of harmless filming / showing off in front of the camera kicks off. The obligatory twats in the kitchen emptying the fridge, the couple in the corner who spend the night getting into each other’s colons using only their tongues, and the general loud, spaccy behaviour of mid teens mixed with alcohol and god knows what. Like I said…Harmless.

Always keen to be involved, I thought I’d do something to keep the filming interesting. As I spot somebody filming me leaving the lounge for the upstairs toilet, I turn my back on the camera, drop my trollies and moon the camera. Big cheer. What a hero.

Unbeknownst to everybody…Dog takes note.

As the next person leaves for the bog, there is a shout of ‘moonie, moonie’ and as requested, the game girl bares her cheeks for the audience.

Dog now takes a decided interest.

Before long, it’s my mate Vlad’s turn. As he opens the door he knows what to expect. The cheers start, he takes the stance in the doorway, drops his kex right to the floor and drunkenly bends over, proudly displaying his full poo-chute to the filming throng.

Third time unlucky…for him anyway

With perfect timing and Ninja stealth, Dog strolls up…and taking full advantage of Vlad’s immobile and drunken state, grabs the opportunity to push his nose up Vlad’s clackervalve….RIGHT UP….TO THE COLLAR*.

The sheer force of the sniff / push sends Vlad tripping over his own pants and into the nearby plant pot in the hallway, sending Vlad, Dog (still with nose up arse) and soil flying everywhere.

To say we all fell about pissing our pants was an understatement, and just so we’d never forget the incident, we’ve also got it all on video tape for good measure.

Vlad begged me not to show the tape or mention the story when I was best man at his wedding a year or so ago…What do you think I did???

I’ll keep you guessing…

*(well that’s what it looked like from the angle I was watching from)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:49, 4 replies)

Solomon the Great
A mate of mine had a German Shepherd by the name of Solomon. Said friend (Johnny, that is his name) liked to smoke cigars...

Bet you're thinking he gave one to Sol, no he didn't.

He was out walking Sol and had stopped to prepare for a smoke. He took the stoogie out of it's plastic container, removed the sellophane then lit it.

All the while he was idlely throwing the plastic container in the air and catching it. Sol was watching this with great interest...

Johnny throws it up in the air and prepares to volley it, Sol seizes his chance and leaps up to catch the container...

Jonny's size 9 connected sqaurely with the side of Solomon's noggin, amazingly he didn't flinch or make any sound, just stood his ground, composed himself then attacked the container as it lay on the floor.
(Skeksis 2nd place is 1st loser....., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:48, Reply)

My Cat Max
Thinks we're needlessly cruel to him, we don;t feed him every 5minutes like he demands. We also, occasionaly, force him into a cage and then put him in a loud thing that moves and bumps around only to deliver him to a place with a bunch of other locked up animals where another human pokes and prods him, sticks something up his bum and then stabs his neck several times. The only reason he hasn't left us is that we give him loads of strokes and scratches and warm spots to sleep on.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:43, Reply)

The only thing I can think of
is when i was driving from Guildford down to Bridgwater. I was heading down the A303 when a large female duck flew across in front of my car. I know it was female because it flew right into my windscreen and was sent flying over the roof of the car. Its feathers were definitely brown.

I saw it tumbling to the Earth in my wing mirror, so I don't think it got up again.

The accidental cruelty is not in the duck's demise, as it would have been instantaneous, but since it was late spring there were probably ducklings who must have starved to death without their mum :(
( Kroney, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:40, 3 replies)

Revenge.
Not myself, but some poor unfortunate.

I lent on one of the barriers at Drayton Manor zoo, outside of the chimpanzee enclosure, and promptly found my arm covered in shit. I was rather perplexed by this and had no idea how it got there, until I looked over and saw a man teasing one of them with an ice cream.

The poor chimp, look of desperation upon her face, arm outstretched from the cage desperately trying to reach the frozen treat. One of the male chimps then came out of the house thing within the enclosure, prompting the female to retract her hand, flip out (I assume she was threatened that the male would steal the ice cream), dance around the enclosure screaming and then scoop up a handful of shit before launching it at the ice cream-wielding teaser with precision accuracy.

That would explain the barrier then.

Moral of the story:-

Don't be cruel to chimps; they're shit-snipers in reality.
( Regger, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:38, 1 reply)

Cat Sellotape II
For the advanced student:

Apply the square of sellotape to your furry companion's ringpiece. This is especially good on slippy slidey laminate flooring.

That'll teach them to sit on your chest proudly exhibiting their barking starfish 2mm from your nose...

(Note may not be accidental, at least not after the second time)
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:37, Reply)