feline slinky
Everyone remembers the Slinky, right? That coil of stainless steel (or later plastic) that amazingly 'walked' down the stairs when prompted. Well, what if you put a dozing cat inside a small backpack and positioned it at the top of the stairs? What if the cat woke to find itself in the dark and made a wrong move? It would roll down the stairs very slowly, step by step, emerging from the bag boss-eyed and dizzy.

I now nothing whatsoever about this.
(frankspencer, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 9:00, Reply)

Legless4legs
.
As you old-timers on QOTW might know, I'm named after my dog. He was called Legless.

Now when we got Legless (so named because he was drunk when we found him) we knew bugger all about him except the few things we could deduce. He used to wear a collar. He had never seen stairs (for ages he was fine going up them but had to be carried down them) and he had never seen a large expanse of water. This we found out by accident.

We were at a local park playing frisbee and Legless was joining in the fun chasing the frisbee backwards and forwards and hving a wonderful time. Then an errant throw sent the disk spinning over the boating lake and into the water.

"Isssa gonna getit!!! Issa gonna getit!!" Yelped Legless excitedly and off he went, full pelt after the frisbee. Only he didn't know that water wasn't solid. He made a creditable effort though. He was going so fast when he hit the water that he actually seemed to run a few steps on the surface before sinking.

Of course this came as a hell of a shock to the poor bugger and he panicked and started to drown. He was actually trying to climb out of the water into thin air. So, as bloody usual, it was muggins who had to jump in and rescue him and Legless clawed the fuck out of my chest by trying to climb on top of me. Still, we got him out safely in the end.

Oddly enough, this experience didn't put him off water and within a few weeks he was fascinated by the stuff. Every chance he got he'd hurl himself with gay abandon into any water he couild find. Canals, ponds, lakes, rivers - he loved them all.

Then one fateful day we took him up North to see the sea. You should have seen his face when he saw the sea for the first time. All that water!

He jumped out of the car and pelted hell-for-leather towards the sea and the skidded to a stop and looke at the waves suspiciously. What the fuck were those? A couple of experimental dashes forward followed by instant retreats as he tried to figure them out and then he thought "Stuff it" and hurled himself joyously into the waves - and was promptly dumped on his arse by a big roller.

Ah Legless - I miss you mate...

Cheers

Legless2Legs
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 8:26, 11 replies)

Retirement sucks
I am a dog handler. My first dog is called Max. Max and I went through a grueling three month training course together. We then worked together for about four years before arthritis got the better of Max. The day Max retired I bought him home after work and I bawled.

Now nearly three years later, Max is still alive. Every morning when I go to work with my new dog Max cries and whimpers at being left behind. I still feel awful every day, that my old workmate is so upset.

It's almost impossible not to be sentimental when you work as a dog handler, but it feels like animal cruelty.
(angusinoz, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 7:32, 2 replies)

tabasco
I have 2 lovely cats that I absolutely adore and spoil rotten. However, around 10 years ago, when they were about a year old, I was having a munch and they came over to scavenge. Dont know what got into me but, to my eternal shame, I scooped up a dollop of tabasco from the side of my plate and offered it to greedy garbage guts Lucy.

Fuck me, cats can fly when their mouth is on fire!
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 7:30, 1 reply)

I just remembered this. Deliberate, but hey...
I regularly kill Lacewings and Moths through suffocation. They fly into my face when I'm trying to get to sleep and feel creepy and disgusting.

I switch my reading lamp on, find a suitable vessel (usually a glass, there'll always be one kicking around in my room somewhere), catch said insect and place the glass upside-down on the windowsill. I then leave it to fly around until it dies.

If I'm feeling evil, I'll subject it to a Nazi Death Camp-style gassing. I slide the glass to the edge of the windowsill until it over-hangs by a centimeter or so, then spray deoderent up into the glass. The insects seem to get high and fly erratically, instead of around and around in circles. Perhaps that's what inspired the Nazis...
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Fri 7 Dec 2007, 7:25, Reply)

Only one example of my cruelty that I can think of so far...
I was on a school trip to That London, I think I was aged about 10. We were sat outside wherever it was we went (I forget, but I THINK it might have been the Museum of Moving Image) eating our packed lunches, in small groups of friends.

As is typical of London, there were pigeons. Everywhere. And these ones were emboldened by years of idiots feeding them, so they wouldn't leave us alone. This was back in the 90s when those airline-sized cans of drink were all the rage from Woolworths.

I wasn't thirsty, so I threw an unopened miniature can of Tango at a pigeon, as hard as ten-year-old-me could, from about 6 feet away. I nailed it on the side of the head, and it fell over sideways. It was only stunned, but I wouldn't have felt guilty.

Secondly, I don't know the specificts, but a friend underfed her cat when it was a kitten, so it didn't grow properly. She now has a bizarre, miniature cat.
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Fri 7 Dec 2007, 7:15, Reply)

I love my hairballs, but...
... There has been one incident of accidental cruelty.

I kicked my cat in the head once. My brother was playing with the cat, and I had my foot at the level of her head, and... yeah. She ran into my foot. She's fine, though.
(GLC, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 6:16, Reply)

I didn't do it, it wasn't my fault!
My kids' pet rat was climbing around the futon couch while kiddies watched Saturday morning cartoons. Roxie the rat got wedged in a crack and my son helpfully pulled her out of it. Roxie didn't let out a peep, my daughter did. She shrieked the fucking house down. I ran in to see her brandishing a big fat rat's tail with five or six bloody, raw,bare vertebrae on the end.

Danger Boy had simply stripped the flesh off her tail like pulling an artichoke leaf through your teeth when he "helped" her out of the couch.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 6:06, 3 replies)

Cycling
As many of you know, I rode 478 miles in 7 days this past July across the state of Iowa with The Lance. In preparation for that ride, I was logging around 40-50 miles per day in the saddle of my trusty Trek bicycle and predominantly on the Baltimore Annapolis Trail which is a beautiful wooded trail that runs almost entirely from Baltimore to Annapolis, through suburbia and lots of woods.

So its hot. I am plugging along, right around 15 miles per hour. Now, 15 miles per hour is NOT fast by any stretch of the imagination...and those of you that know me would not saddle me with the adjectives fast or quick. I am made for American football. But this one day I was tooling along. It was warm and I am sweating and decided that this lovely shaded stretch of trail was perfect for an enroute rehydration so I reached down for my water bottle...

It was then that I saw the American Grey Squirrel (sciurus carolinensis) trotting across the path, perprendicular to my axis of movement. Just as he reached my exact line of travel, he stopped and looked at me. No fear, just a kind of curious glance. Apparently something about my cycling jersey mesmerized him and he just sat there, sprawled perpendicular to my direction of travel.

"He will move" I think. "Squirrels are, by nature, squirrely and they tend to dart around a good bit. That is precisely what this specimen shall do as I draw nearer."

Well, he didnt.

At 15 mph, the act of riding OVER a squirrel is painfully slow and you FEEL things that you dont anticipate. I dont mean emotionally or spiritually, I mean, I FELT him under my wheels in a way that cannot be appreciated while driving a car at 40 mph over the same animal.

When I recovered, and engaged my brakes, wishing to remove what must surely be his lifeless, back broken carcass from the trail, prepared to fling his motionless little grey body into the waiting underbrush, as my head came around I saw him...that SAME look. As if he was giving me the "You DIDNT just ride over me did you?!" Then he sprung to all fours and turned to face me.

Off in the distance a tumbleweed rolled slowly across the trail and I could swear I heard a distant whistle, a la Clint Eastwood movies. As I closed the gap betwixt Mr Squirrel and I, he shook his body, as a wet dog will do to try and dry itself, gave a glance to the direction of the woods, back at me, and then he scampered off into the woods.

This squirrel had JUST been run over by a well built guy who clocks in at about 195 lbs, plus the weight of my bike..and he shook it off and carried on.

I doff my cap to you Mr. Squirrel. Until we meet again.

Sic Semper Sciurus
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 4:58, 7 replies)

Driving
Mate of mine, an ex-flatmate, used to be a driving instructor up in the wilds of Northumberland where I used to live.

He had one pupil, a drippy-trippy student who used to annoy the hell out of him - mainly because she was unteachable as far as driving went. She would only do exactly what he told her. No more, no less. So if, on approaching a bend, he didn't tell her to steer the car around the bend, she'd frequently keep going straight meaning that mate had to apply the emergency breaks to avoid going off the road and into a hedge.

"But you didn't tell me to veer left" she'd wail.

But I'm rabbiting. Back to the tale.

Anyway - this one tme he had this fuckwit in the car and they were driving down a country lane when this red squirrel dashed into the road.

"Thud-Thud"

"Oh my God" wailed student "I've just ran over a red squirrel!

"Yup" says mate

"Are they an endangered species" asks student

"Well that one is" says mate.

After that he always referred to her as:

"The Northumbrian Squirrel Squasher"

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 4:19, Reply)

Some years ago,
I accidentally(as opposed to dliberately) ran over a dog with my car.
At an intersection with two right turn lanes, I was in the left of the two. To my right was an orange (funny how the details stick in your head)Kombi van, the passenger of said van had a blue cattle dog on their lap.
Lights turn green, Kombi is slightly infront of me, as he has shorter radius corner. I am however accelerating at a rapid rate, as one cattle dog exits left side window of right turning Kombi, and hits ground directly in front of my car and disappears underneath.
I hear thudding and yelping, to my surprise the dog exits the rear of my car and bolts down the middle of the two lanes of traffic, with it's owner/carer following like some kind of lunatic with a death wish. I didnt mean to hurt the animal, but sometimes "natural selection" can be harsh.
(M61A1 CUPID- STUNTS, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 4:16, Reply)

The animal cruelty in this one was deliberate by some of my mates....
I just managed to end up the "evil one" in my quest to be humane to the poor creature.
First of all, yes, I do go shooting and have eradicated alot of vermin along with quite a few of one of our national symbols in my time. Meat and skins are always used and this is never done just for the sake of killing an animal (feral cats and indian minor birds excluded).
Anyways, one day me and a few of "the boys" were drinking in my mates shed (along with a few of the sober "designated drivers" AKA "wifeys")(I was single at the time) . Some way into the drinking session a crested dove flies into the shed to roost for the night. Said mate who owns the shed says "That must be the cunt that keeps shitting on my fucking boat!" and proceeds to wave his arms about madly telling it to "FUCK OFF!". this goes on for a minute or 2 when another one of the bys remembers shed owners pellet gun that is kept in the shed. Naturally he pulls it out and says "Dont worry, I'll get the cunt!" Cue laughter and chants of "go on" from the rest of the group (wifeys just rolling their eyes and not stepping in preffering not to have a potential argument on their hands). Me being a bit concerned about our feathered native freind urged other wise and advised that if shed owner did not want it in there, maybe he should just fix the hole in the wall. Duh! Regardless of rational and me urging to not shoot it, it gets shot. But not dead, injured. No one would touch it, they were re-loading. Cue me rushing over to the poor bird "FOR FUCKS SAKE AT LEAST PUT THE CUNT OUT OF ITS MISERY!" I picked up the bird with all humane intentions and snapped its neck. Only problem being, due to haste and a belly full of grog its head ripped clean off its body and left me standing there with a body of the dove in one hand and the head in another "Ooops!" was all I could say. 2 seconds later cue the better halves of my freinds.... "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! YOUR FUCKING HORRIBLE! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT! YOU ARE A FUCKING SADIST!" etc etc etc....
I did not even bother with an explanation.
( Sir Pigeon Nipples Did you sit in some sugar?, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 4:02, 1 reply)

Killer Squirrel
Found this a couple of years back and, as it's vaguely related to this QOTW I'd thought I'd share. Not my story, not my work. Enjoy.

Cheers



I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.

Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being "behind the power curve". It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.

Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle.at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.

I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!

Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness.all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway. I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that "edge" so frequently required when riding. Little did I suspect.

As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it-it was that close.

I hate to run over animals.and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.



Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels can take care of themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the windshield and impacted me squarely in the chest.

Instantly he set upon me. If I did not know better I would have sworn he brought twenty of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!



Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather gloves puttering maybe 25mph down a quiet residential street.and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing.

I grabbed for him with my left hand and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off squirrel. This was an evil attack squirrel of death!

Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands, and with the force of the throw swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact he landed square on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him!

The situation was not improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result. Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared as the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in.well.I just plain screamed.



Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street.on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike. This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle.my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little affect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he is a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however. The rpm's on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop. Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel's tail sticking out his mostly closed full-face helmet. By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand.I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked.sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of, so to speak.

Picture the scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.

Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams. They weren't mine...

I managed to get the big motorcycle under directional control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign at a busy cross street.

I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.

So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger. That is one dangerous squirrel.

And now he has a patrol car.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood. As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I'll take my chances with the freeway. Every time. And I'll buy myself a new pair of gloves.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 3:59, 7 replies)

Really glad
this QOTW has been brought back, it always made me sad that it no longer existed in the archive.

Anyway, at school one of the quirkier biology teachers had a tank that housed two axylotls (think lizards with gills). They were quite good fun, and would generally try and bite anything that was waggled on the surface of the water - fingertips, pencils etc. All pretty harmless fun, until someone waved a bit of cadbury's caramel infront of one, which was then greedily wolfed down.
It went belly up the next day. I'm not sure whether that was the real point of cruelty, or whether it was more the point at which our teacher calmly tossed the corpse into an old nescafé jar filled with formaldehyde...

length? Can't really recall, though it did gain a bit of girth after eating the chocolate...
(cap'nj, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 3:43, 1 reply)

I really don't like this thread
It makes light of animals that are getting hurt, and some of the posts are quite disturbing, especially the ones where people have tried experiments to see if the animal will die.
(sinewriter, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 3:26, 2 replies)

Dogs
They're a yappy, friendly bunch of mans-best-friend type of thing. They trust humans lots and have been so out-bred of real natural instinct that they are the epitome of man's domestic pets. They fetch slippers, the newspaper and if properly trained the odd curry.

Anyway, back to realism.

Myself and Greg knew his dog was blind (you can see where this is going) and we were pretty cool with that. We were pretty considerate and clapped whenever we called him to encourage him to move with the sound. He was good and learned where holes and flower beds in the garden were - pretty cool. He was a damn fine dog and wouldn't hurt anything, even when my kid sister poked him in the eye, he just sat there and wondered what had happened/why something had done that to him.

He was a chocolate labrador and would potter around *HIS* garden all day and recognised when his food was being ready by hearing the sound of the tin opener being removed from the drawer at about 5pm. Even then, he wouldn't run; just pad his way to the back door and stand there until he was invited in to have his dinner.

He loved children because they would makes lots of laughing noises whenever he moved and that's what he loved - pleasing people for no other reason that they just petted him on his head and stroked his ears. Like I say he was a wonderful pet and in his own right, one of my family when I was very young.

His demise was particularly distressing but not caused by myself. Greg and I were chucking a tennis ball around in the garden where 'said chocolate lab' lived and Greg got a bit too enthusiastic. Off the ball went, over the fence, into the road. Realising that the dog would try and follow the ball we shouted, "No!" and he stopped. He followed Greg's command like a statue and waited patiently for the next step. What a good dog :=)

Greg went out of the gate and retrieved the ball from the gutter at the other side of the road and threw it back to me in the garden. Bad move! He was a crap throw and couldn't see where the dog was. The ball hit the front of a moving car on my side of the road and bounced off. Hearing this the dog set off to get the ball. He knew where the fence was and clumsily jumped over; sprinting for where he thought the noise came from he ran into the middle of the road and just smelled around 'looking' for the tennis ball. I remember so clearly the feeling as I saw him there with the innocent face and lolling tongue waiting to be told what to do.

And then the car came.

Some fucking stupid Talbot Horizon was driving towards him and (it seems) was only yards away from the trusting labrador!
Screeching of brakes and a horrible yelping sound emitted.

I opened my eyes to see Greg holding 'Choco Lab' in his arms. My stomach was like a black hole and I thought the kind old mutt was dead. But the noise had come from Greg! What he'd actually done was jump in front of the car to save his dog: "Lab" was fine but Greg has forever suffer from a rather creaky back where the car had hit him.

Lab died of a heart attack when he was about eight - I was at uni by then so couldn't see *his* family at the time.

I'm still friends with Greg and every time we meet we talk about "Lab" (much to the annoyance of everyone else) until they tell us to shut up.

I don't care. That Chocolate Labrador was the best dog I've ever known. and I don't care if this doesn't quite fit with this QOTW topic but there you go.

Length....about 25 years ago now and I still see it as if it was yesterday.
( Fr_Jerry_McGwier looked over both shoulders at, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 3:26, 3 replies)

OK I admit it -
I used to have an amateur radio license. One day soon after I got it I had a set on and I heard a familiar callsign. It was Graham F, a boyhood pal from years before. So I called him and we were chatting about this and that. I didn't mention my name.

I began to tell him the story of how two wicked 11 year olds had connected a long pair of wires to an ancient hand cranked telephone generator and while one turned the handle for all he was worth, the other sneaked up on the cat.

Moggy's tail had received the full dose of 40 volts or whatever it was and Moggy streaked off to the backest part of the back yard and up a mulberry tree.

"How the - - - did you know that, that must have been thirty years ago."

A few second later he remembered "Redemption, you old bastard, I haven seen you for years!"
(Redemption blamed it on the Bossa Nova since, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 3:13, Reply)

Veggies Ain't Gonna Like This One.
But when I was a nipper, I used to poach the estates of Lord Lambton back in County Durham. The method was ingenious and had been shown to me by older kids.

We used to go to the estate at dusk and scatter corn around where we knew the pheasants used to feed. Amongst the corn we place cones of paper, point side down, which contained some corn. The inside of the cone was liberally smeared with treacle. And then we'd slink off into the night.

Very early the next morning I'd cycle the few miles to my traps and spend a happy half an hour picking up pheasants, snapping thier necks, and stuffing them into an old duffle bag. Then it was off to the local butchers where I'd sell them for 10p each.

It's still a sight that makes me chuckle when I think back on it. 20 or so pheasants standing stock still in a field, all wearing cute little hats.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 2:01, 2 replies)

Urban Legend Time....
I heard this years ago and really belived it at the time. It just sounds so plausible.

Allegedly, you can make seagulls explode by making pellets of bread and stuffing the inside with bi-carb of soda. The theory is, that when you feed these pellets to seagulls, the stomach acid reacts with the bi-carb producing huge quantities of gas and the seagull explodes in mid air.

Tried it. Doesn't work.


Cheers

I was 12.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:55, 1 reply)

R.I.P. Mr Hedgehog
When I was much much younger a friend and I found a hedgehog in a field. We thought it was cute so we wanted to keep it. We were both old enough to know that neither of our respective sets of parents would be thrilled if we brought it home, so we came up with the brilliant plan of burying a bucket to the rim and dropping it in there so it couldn't get away. After playing with it for a bit (which, looking back, was probably more like torture for the poor thing) we left it in the bucket, already making plans on what to feed it and what tricks we could maybe teach it.

Except it rained that night.

When we got back the next day the bucket was 3/4 full with water and poor Mr Hedgy was dead and drowned.

I still feel like a right hedgehog-murdering bastard whenever I think about it. ;_;
(Jokel, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:47, Reply)

Bunny kill
I've had a few birds fly into my car labelling me the 'birdy murderer' before but this was the worst.

One night driving home from work at 11pm I was giving a lift to a friend so he could get home early to watch the football. We were chatting and laughing when I saw what I though at first was a small bag on the motorway. Then I saw what it really was, a baby bunny sitting in the middle of the road.

It happened in seconds. I saw its cute little face, eyes entranced by the headlights then felt the thump as it went under my tyre. My friend and I both went quiet until I whined; "Oh GOD I just killed a bunny....I KILLED A BUNNY!" The rest of the drive home was silent, I dropped him off and pulled up outside my house where my mum opened the front door.

"Whats the matter?" she asked, seeing I looked a little shaken up. One of my cats then wandered over to the car and started sniffing the tyre which proved my crime.
"I... I just killed a bunnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" I burst into tears and continued to cry for half an hour. I didn't sleep that night, I kept seeing that bunny's cute little face before it was flattened.

Doesn't beat when my friend hit a bunny though, she stopped the car, picked up it's limp body whilst crying, kissed it telling it she was sorry and put it in the bushes. To be fair though I don't think there was enough of the baby rabbit I hit left to pick up.

Length? I don't even want to think about how far that rabbit was spread across the road....
(chakaflange, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:47, Reply)

Ex-partner's cat
was somewhat terrified of _everything_. Shadows, reflections, loud noises, afternoons of silence, sunbeams, helium, quarks - absolutely everything that may or may not even exist, it was terrified of.

Now this one night we'd been to the village pub and had a number of fine ales. Chased down with a possibly greater number of crap ales, and maybe even a couple of hastily-slurped lagers in between last orders and closing time.

Back at her place, and this photogenic yet terrified moggie is wandering around aimlessly, slightly terrified at the motion of air molecules we've caused by our entrance. And in a similar aimless manner, I started playing with my house-keys, noticing that the cat started nervously when they jingled.

And I had an idea.

My keys were on one of those spring-loaded clip affairs - the type of thing you can use to attach a keyring to a belt loop. And, as it was early spring, the cats had recently been fitted with flea collars.

I gently reached out and snapped the keyring clip around the flea collar.

The first half-minute or so was uneventful. The cat was hunkered down, apprehensive at unaccustomed weight dragging at its neck.

Then it moved, jangling the keys.

This upset the cat, which then tried to run away from the source of the noise.

It went hurtling up and down the stairs, and passed through the large living room at least twice, getting more and more terrified. Finally with a thump, it bounced off the kitchen door and lay there, stunned.

I was crying with laughter at this point, but realised the fun was over. I caught the cat and regained my keys.

She was a good cat (died of a seizure many years on in an unrelated incident). RIP.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:35, Reply)

Playing at Zoo's
As a child we had a washbasket of a checkered pattern and a very stripy cat.

Needless to say I would spent hours catching the cat under this basket, then gazing at it.

To all intents and purposes I was at the zoo.
(TheVomitingCavalier entered one image challenge and failed miserably, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:35, Reply)

Digging in my dads garden
Was tending to the allotment at the back of the garden many years ago, when i managed somehow to cut a big bastard frog in half...

The poor thing died instantly, but its legs were still moving as was its tongue...

So i did the decent thing and flicked it (both bits) over the hedge into the farmers field.

Sorry froggy, was an accident.

Length? It's tongue was freakishly long.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:09, 1 reply)

Aunt's dog
When I was 19 I was backpacking around the world with 3 of my mates. One of the stops on our trip was New Zealand where my aunt lives. Now, she lives on a farm that has a river that meanders through it, something I remembered from visiting her in my childhood.

We had only just arrived and put our backpacks down when I suggested a stroll down to the river, to a little shaded spot that was very picturesqe. In reality I was keen to smoke a spliff and wanted to get away from the prying eyes of my aunt.

So off we toddled down to the waters edge with her big fat labrador waddling along behind us.
When we got to the river you could see that it was still very swollen from the recent inclement weather they'd had over the proceeding weeks. The water was much higher, dirtier and faster flowing than I remembered it. It was such a raging torrent that it looked a little scary. I joked about throwing a stick into the middle of it to see if the dog would fetch it. We laughed about how fucked the dog would be if it did jump in the river - and how much trouble I'd be in if I lost my aunts dog within 30 minutes of arriving at the farm.

Anyways, we smoked a couple of spliffs and decided to make our way back to the house for a spot of lunch. Just before I left to go I absentmindedly picked up a stone to see if I could skim it across the water. No sooner had it left my hand than this stupid fat dog leapt off the bank into the river.

Oh, fuck!

We all stood in silence and watched helplessly as this dog was hurtled down stream at a rate of knots, head bobbing below the waters surface as it slowly became smaller and smaller before disappearing out of view as the river rounded a bend.

OH, FUCK!

We all stared at each other in shock - having only moments earlier been joking about this situation and all the various scenarios that may play out, we were now faced with the very real problem of having to explain to my aunt that I had, in fact, just lost her pride and joy, a 12 year old dog that I remembered from my childhood.

I really didn't know what to do - and being stoned wasn't helping the situation. We threw a couple of ideas out there.
"What dog?"
"It jumped in the river before we could get there to stop it."
"It was looking a bit depressed when we arrived."
"I guess it must have been it's time."

None of these looked like they would carry any weight so I decided honesty was the best policy and we'd better just go back and face the music.

Walking back I was so nervous. My aunt is a nice woman but she could be a real bitch as well and would think nothing of tearing a few strips off me. I also knew how much she loved the dog and how upset she was going to be. I was dreading this.

As we approached the house my aunt came out to meet us at the front door, all smiles and welcoming. My mates began to lag back, not wanting to be involved in what was about to go down.

With tears starting to well up in my eyes, I started to explain that I didn't mean to and it was the last thing I wanted to happen but I had managed to send her dog to it's watery grave. Just as I started to profusely apologise, the fat little shit came sauntering out of the house and stood beside it's master.

Turns out the dog goes swimming in the river every day and follows the river around the corner where it gets ouut and runs home.
(Creamy Discharge Freeze Motherstickers, this is a fuck up, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:07, 2 replies)

I regret nothing, except that I kinda got wet
A few weeks ago (on my birthday, to be precise) my pet hamster Pipsqueak died while in surgery to get a tumor removed. It got buried in its hamster ball, under a rock in the forest.

A few days later I was at a party with a bunch of ruffians (from the Vampires Motorcycle Club, to be precise), and ended up commiserating with one of the guys. He had a pet rat that got a tumor on its chest, but he couldn't afford to take it to the vet. Instead, at the suggestion of a friend, he tried to put it out of its misery by shooting it. With an air pistol. He didn't quite kill it before he ran out of ammo, so at the suggestion of a friend he dug a hole and buried it alive to speed up the process.

The whole time while he was talking about it, he had that expression on his face that looked like he was recalling war stories.


As for animal cruelty that I've perpetrated:
My family had a cat that loved stalking me. Every morning when I left the house, without fail, it would be huddled flat against the ground with giant pupils, waiting to strike. I ended up with a bunch of clothing stained by muddy paw prints.

Now, we used to have a cattle trough in our yard which was about two feet tall. It was empty, except for the rain water pooled at the downhill side of it.

One morning I saw the cat jump in it to drink the water. Aha! Stealth mode! I got out the door as quietly as possible, tiptoed down the path, and spent two minutes creeping up to trough. When I was close enough I jumped up, banged on the side of the trough, and made a loud noise.

The cat exploded. Well, not literally, but my mom said it looked like it from the house. It really shot across the bottom of the trough so fast that the water sprayed out like a geyser. Then it jumped out, and ran its soggy ass across the yard.

I didn't really expect that result, but revenge can be sweet like that.
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 1:03, 2 replies)

mostly accidental
I was in charge of our school fish tank. I quite liked it, but some of the reprobates I went to school enjoyed dropping things in with the fish. After a series of incidents with ink cartridges, there weren’t that many creatures left when some idiot placed a full loaf of bread in there. At that point I decided to put my fish-caring responsibilities on the backburner, and didn’t touch the tank again for a while.

The tank was in a relatively unused library where teachers almost never went, and my lack of attention went unnoticed until one teacher found himself having to explain to the parents he was showing around why his school contained a jet black fish tank, brimful with ink, mould and algae.

So, I had to clean things up. Rolling up my sleeves to clear out the gunk, I scraped away layer upon layer of foul-smelling filth to find, living amongst the inky water, an almost white, yet still alive, fish. It had survived for months in water filled with absolute crap, and no heat, with its only food being a decomposing loaf of bread.

While that part of the fish's life can’t have been much fun, it may at least have provided some preparation for its next stage, when it was flushed down the toilet so I didn’t have to look after fish any more.
(silencer, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 0:52, Reply)

Dogs and welders - bad combination....
I'd had my terrier for a few years, from being a pup, he must have been 8 or 9 when it happened....

He used to follow me everywhere at home, so in the garage if i was ever doing any welding i had to shut the door to keep him out.

Anyways, im in the garage one weekend, the missus is out and has the dog with her so the doors wide open and i'm welding away on the car when i pull off the mask and there's Jack (the dog!) sat looking at me......

I throw him out, and shut the door and carry on. Bit later, i notice him pawing at his eyes, putting 2 and 2 together we take him to the vets and yup, he's got arc eye. Lots of tablets and other shit later he's gone blind.

Obviously i feel really guilty at this, but we always used to walk round the same park down the road, and he knows his way about the house so after a while, with a bit of bumping into things and with a bit of talking to him whilst we are out he learns whats what, and has a fairly normal happy life (i think...)

Now, this is all fine until we split up and i move, taking him with me.

He was 12 by now, and slowing down a bit - took him months to learn the layout of the new house, and the local park was a nightmare if you forgot about him (there was a pond in there)

It was sorta funny watching him walk into stuff, but whilst he kept wagging his tail i figured he wasnt too pissed off..

I miss him.
(Aleister Crowleys Badger Nothing to see here, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 0:46, Reply)

It's the cats fault!
One of the 3 cats that lives in my house, goes by the name of Benson, is black (unless you look close up and there's light shining on him cos then he looks a chocolate brown sort of colour)and he has an annoying habit of sleeping on the stairs. In the dark. Cue cat being trod on as you can't see where the bugger is. Not cruelty as such though I suppose.
Also the eldest and most ginger of our cats, who's name is Stompy, ate all of my mums dried poppy heads from her potpourri and as a result got proper stoned and spent the next few hours running around the house and pouncing on random things.
Length? Not sure exactly but poppy heads aren't that long.
(OzEden is probably clinically insane, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 0:16, Reply)

Everlasting Beetle
First question in a while I've had the opportunity to answer so here goes..

As a nipper, I absolutely loved (and still do to some extent) riding my bike. One day as I merrily rode along the pavements getting in the way of OAPs and whatnot, the familiar sound of tyres on pavement were broken by a nasty crunching noise. I hit the brakes, stopped and retraced where I had come from to be faced with..

A beetle.

This wasn't an ordinary beetle though. To this day it is by far the largest beetle I have ever come across. Now obviously the thing was half squished but amazingly it was still alive and writhing around as well as a crippled bug could manage. On seeing this pitiful sight the words of my dad (bless him) came thundering into my little brain:

"Son, if you ever see a hurt animal that isn't going to get better, put it out of its misery instead of leaving it to die slowly"

So, back to the half disemboweled beetle. With the nugget of knowledge fresh in my head I decided to go forth and run the little bugger over again just to be sure it was dead. Crunch, crunch, wriggle.

Somehow it was still alive and it became clear to my young self that this beetle was not going to die as quickly as I wanted it to. Desperate measures had to be taken. Beetle is scuffed off the pavement into the lane. Even a direct hit from the tyre from a height didn't stop its squirming around.

By now I was getting frustrated. I wanted to go to the shop and get some sweets but I had told myself that this creature had to die before I moved another inch. Spotting half a brick nearby, I grabbed it and slammed it down onto Mr Beetle. That was it I thought. Nothing could take that.

Twitch. It twitched at me in some form of insect mockery. If you've managed to read this far, the next measure would be the death of the Everlasting Beetle. I scooped him up, put him in my pocket and took a short run over to the main road. Checking the coast was clear, I valiantly (or stupidly, depends how you look at it) ran onto the road, and placed the beetle where the car tyres liked to go over.

I retreated to the kerbside and watched in suspense. A few cars came by, but they all missed the potential roadkill offered before them. Suddenly the roar of a diesil engine rolled in. Shortly after the Everlasting Beetle had died, a victim of a travel coach.

Solemnly, I turned around and wandered off to get my sweets. I always get taken back to that day whenever beetles come up in conversation.

Length apologised for.
(MrBlue ding!, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 0:08, Reply)