The chivalry of Robins
Robins are very territorial and get a bit stroppy if they see another Robin on their patch. However, A friend of mine is convinced that Robins are so aggressive that merely fighting each other with their beaks is not enough for some of time; no, according to him they will arm themselves with thorns and go jousting.

He seemed quite put out when we all started laughing and making "Brave, Brave Sir Robin!" jokes.

(I wasn't stabbed to death by thorn wielding robins in this anecdote you may be relieved to hear.)
(richardm, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:26, Reply)

I got nothing. Really.
Other than the time when I stayed with Stalker Girl in her delightful home town for four days and a seagull shat on my head rather copiously. She thought it was chocolate (why? Chocolate goes in the mouth, not on the hair, it would be a waste) and put her hand in it. There was screaming.
( Maladicta, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:25, Reply)

Never let a calf suck your fingers

they are so strong that I swear to god, given time, they could suck them off...
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:18, 4 replies)

A Cow in Kobenhavn Zoo
I also got licked by a cow. She liked me, and licked me so one side of my entire face was sticky with her bovine drool.

It wasn't unpleasant, but when it crusted up very difficult to clean off.

I suppose being licked is nice so this doesn't count as an attack.
(booionic, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:17, Reply)

Does anyone remember a really old
black and white TV show being repeated late at night on channel 4 a few years back, called 'Lord Love-a-Duck'?

What the hell was all that about?

EDIT Actually, it was a film, and from what I could gather it was about a guy who'd been rumoured to have made love to a duck. Even Wikipedia doesn't know what it was about, it just says it's a 'spoof teen beach movie'.
All I can distinctly remember is a man running away crying in just about every scene, as everyone pointed and laughed at him for f*cking a duck.
?
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:15, 3 replies)

ATTACK!
Just last night "her indoors" was peacefully dozing when a purple headed womb ferret attacked her - apparently smacking it and telling it to fuck off works wonders.

It crawled back into it's nice warm cotton nest but I have a feeling it will rear it's ugly head again tonight.
(Avalanche - Purveyor of sexual deviancy since 1976, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:14, Reply)

Tried to Cuddle a Goose
It was my fault, getting stoned out of my mind by the River Thames, having been feeding the swans, geese (Canadian variety) and ducks.
Those geese looked so cuddly so I grabbed one to give it some love.

Those bloody flexible necks meant that the fucking thing simply spun round and ripped a piece of meat from my arm. They have razor sharp teeth.

I dropped the goose, and it strolled off pleased with itself. Needless to say I don't hold a grudge.....
(booionic, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:11, Reply)

Meet my mortal enemies.
I grew up in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate NY, in a very heavily wooded area. Aside from having an exceptionally long winter, the mountains are a wonderful place to be. They only have one real flaw.

Blackflies and deerflies.

The blackflies usually start appearing in late May and stay into June before fading out and being replaced by the deer flies, who stay around until August.

Blackflies will swarm around you, and are especially fond of attacking your eyes. They also love to crawl into your hair and bite your scalp, and are very fond of the area just behind your ear. You don't feel them biting at first- in fact, probably you won't be aware of it until they've gone. But instead of poking you with a tube like a mosquito, they chew a small wound in you with their mandibles and drink from the surface, so you know you've been bitten when you rub and itch and your fingers come away bloody.

Deer flies are a bit larger, and fast. Really fast. They circle you two or three times per second until they spot a landing place, and then they bite with a vicious stinging itch. They too love to crawl through your hair to your scalp. And worst of all, they'll chase you- I have tried outrunning them on a bicycle, and the little fuckers followed me along the road for a good quarter of a mile. I have ducked into a building and emerged from another door, and found them waiting on the side of the building around the door I entered.

For reasons unknown, they're especially drawn to me. I got into the habit at an early age of washing with unscented soaps (Ivory is the best) and wearing unscented deodorant, as they're attracted to perfumes, but they still prefer me over other people.

I have been known to go after them with a can of WD-40 and a lighter. I also enjoy catching deer flies and flinging them onto the surface of a lake and watching the fish get them. Once I even stuffed about half a dozen into the barrel of a .22 rifle and fired them into a tree.

I have no idea why God saw fit to create them, but one day I'm going to demand an answer from Him, and might just bring along a few of the fuckers to unleash on His ass...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:09, 4 replies)

lolz
i got attacked by ducks when i was 4

it was well scary!!!!
one of them bit me =[



....ducks put me a little on edge now lol
( Kaydie hasn't been on here in ages, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 17:03, Reply)

it wasn't the jews
I remember a few years ago when 2 albatross' flew headfirst into the World Trade Centre. They said it was jews in aeroplanes but now you all know the truth.

Can we have a NEW QOTW next time pleeeeeze?
(Mr.Dog was in love again on, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:56, Reply)

Please pick your favourite answer...
... from here:

http://www.b3ta.com/questions/animalsattack/
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:53, Reply)

Recycle recycle recycle recycle recycle recycle recycle
Fucksocks, this twating topic AGAIN?!?!?
(Mr.Dog was in love again on, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:47, 2 replies)

Cow headbutt
I remember it quite well when my younger brother was about 5 years old. My dad was taking us out for the day and we went to some kind of open farm (may have been Marsh Farm, Essex - well worth a look if you have kids!) where my dad held up my brother to see the cows in their pen and the cow headbutted him ... although I realise now it was probably painful and embarrassing, it was the funniest thing I'd seen in a long time...
(hangableautobulb is an anagram of the best album ever, on, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:42, Reply)

The Spurting of the Sea-Penis
Well, it's got to be good with a title like that...
Some years ago I was in Kenya.
I got on a boat tour there, and we chugged out to sea a little way, to a rocky area that had a coral reef down the side of it.

As it was low tide, we got out of the boat, and went for a wander about on top of the rocks, having a look at the wierd and wonderful animals lurking in the pools there.

I found one of these:
www.wwf.org.hk/images/hoihawan/gallery/seashore/1.-Beige-sea-cucumber_ph.jpg

The most phallic creature I've ever seen.
I picked it up, and it spurted a thick stream of a white and ropey fluid, which was caught on the breeze, and splattered across the leg of a nearby 'merkin tourist.

She shot a look of pure venom at me, as I was standing there laughing my arse off, holding a huge brown penis-shaped object.

Turns out that Sea Cucumbers can squirt the stuff as a defence mechanism, and it gums up whatever is trying to attack it.

Glad I wasn't pointing it myself.
( Cawl, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:41, 8 replies)

midges
anyone who has been to Scotland in the summer months will know all about these wee bastards. they hang around in huge gangs, often near bus shelters, but instead of necking cheap cider, they're munching on your neck.

once, on a family holiday to the far north west of Scotland (Shegra/Sandwood bay area), we were packing the car to go home, and dad came into the house to tell us the midges were bad. no shit - our black and white dog was unrecognisable, having turned black from nose to tail. we ended up with a hoover, just sucking in as many of the bastards as possible before my younger siblings and the puppies were allowed to leave the house.

shudder.
( ascorbate, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:40, 2 replies)

This is why I hate goats.
Back when I was nineteen and was a racetrack groom I had a near-fatal encounter with a goat.

The stable I worked for was in one side of a barn that had two rows of stalls along the outer walls and two rows of stalls going up the center. One night as I was doing the evening feeding the fire alarm went off. As the barn is full of hay and other highly flammable stuff, this is not something to be taken lightly, so I sprinted around the barn, inside and out. No smoke, but the alarm was still going off. I called track security who assured me that this happens all the time as dust gets into the detectors, and they'd send out the technicians.

The technicians arrived, but were unable to get to the control box- because, tied to a stand pipe directly below the box, was a rather large goat that belonged to the people on the other side of the barn. (Apparently if you have a particularly neurotic and rowdy horse you put a goat in its stall, and it calms down. I have no idea why.) They asked me to take the goat out of there, and I obliged. The goat was tied with a nylon dog leash, so I slipped it over my wrist and untied the knot and led the goat to the door.

Unfortunately a 100 plus pound goat is pretty damned strong, and can easily drag a nineteen year old boy wherever it wishes- and in this case it wanted to cross the highway.

I fought my way down the leash until I got to the collar, then grabbed the collar and lifted the goat's front feet off the ground. It gagged and flailed, but to no avail- I was very pissed off and frankly didn't care if the damned thing died. I stomped back to the barn to the tree I had originally planned on tying it to, and did so one-handed while the strangling goat thrashed. I then threw it to the ground and ran, and it tried very hard to chase me-

-until it got to the end of the leash and did a backflip.

I left the thing there overnight, and thereafter it was kept elsewhere.

...stupid and foul things anyway...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:40, Reply)

I only remember it slightly
But when I was younger, we went round someone's house, who had a pony. My father told me not to go behind the pony, but as a child I just didn't think anything bad would happen. It did. As I patted (probably smacked) the horse's back leg, it started to run off. During its acceleration, one of its legs hit me inches away from my penis. I had a massive bruise there for a while.

Then their dog Mutley ate my ice cream.

To tell the truth, I don't know what age I was, but probably about 5 or 6. I look back on that occasion, and I seemed to have corrupted the memory with Mario burning his bum on the N64. Dunny why.
(lickmyballsandscrotum, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:39, Reply)

Ooh! Ooh! Me sir! Me! Me! Me! *raises hand*
The title has absolutely nowt to do with the content. I was just excited…

I may have posted a reference to this before. However I can’t be arsed to trawl through my postings to find it, so this is a remake (or ‘re-imagining, if you prefer).

My ex mother in law was a soft touch for cats. Especially spakker cats with no teeth, or nasty biological diseases that meant their shit was permanently of the liquid variety. Rescue cats all. One day, a friend of hers that worked for the RSPCA rang and asked her if she would be interested in another cat, knowing that one had just died of old age. Off we all trooped to have a look, and sure enough, there was this lovely lickle puss, white and tortoise-shell. Rather cute and lovely looking, if a little on the tubby side, and blind in one eye (ironically, because of a cataract). And so, she came home with us, and was christened Dillon (yes, that’s how she spelled it).

Turned out, after a check up at the vets, that Dillon was pregnant, hence her tubbiness, but that’s not really relevant.

Now at this point, I wasn’t a cat person. I didn’t mind them, but had never really had a lot of experience of them. Dillon changed all that. She sort of adopted me one morning when I was spread out on the floor doing a spot-the-ball competition in the local rag, which at that point in time was still a broadsheet (I bloody HATE broadsheet format newspapers. Not the content, just the format. Grrrrr). Dillon decided that was her cue to climb on my back and fall asleep, so I was stuck there. After that, I became her favourite human – anytime I was in the house, she’d stop what she was doing and literally launch herself at me. Even if she was outside and up a tree, she could somehow sense my presence and would dash in from the garden and jump into my arms. I’d have to carry her round like a baby, while she nuzzled and nibbled my earlobe.

The one thing she didn’t like was loud noise. Especially the vacuum cleaner… Which my mother in law forgot about one time, and switched on while Dillon was in full cuddle mode with me. As the vacuum cleaner sprang noisily into life, Dillon forgot all about her lovely cuddle and made a break for freedom. Which, unfortunately for me, involved wriggling from my grasp like a thing demented and running for the safety of under the bed, leaving me with a severely lacerated right arm which proceeded to pump blood all over the carpet.

It took a hell of a lot of pressure and TCP to stem the flow. I’ve still got the scars to show for it, one of which perfectly follows the track of a large and important looking vein.

I miss Dillon sometimes.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:35, Reply)

Black and Yellow Flying Git-Bastards
Wasps. I have no great phobia of the flying skinheads, I have been stung a few times and while it wasn't pleasant, it was no great drama.

However.

Back in the mists of time, I lived in a big old house on the outskirts of Embra. The garden lead down a fair old gradient, so was terraced. The very bottom level had fallen into disuse after a few years of 'Good Life' style veg/fruit production. This meant that every now and then it started to resemble Heart of Darkness type jungle. As Osok Senior was away working, any chopping/hacking that could possible involve agonising injury was down to me.

After a some time slashing away like a manic Freddy Kruger clone, I wasn't getting far. Scottish brambles in those days had a tensile strength greater than steel.

A-Ha, thinks I, I'll just go and fire up the trusty strimmer.

That broke after about five minutes, but I was definitely making an impression. Right, you bastards, thinks I, lawnmower time. I'll just pick you up, plonk you on top of the undergrowth and let you chew your way down to ground level. At this point I should have noticed (a) quite a lot of wasp activity and (b) an old tarpaulin, partly grown over with grass/brambles that appeared to date from the Bronze Age.

Lawnmower. Whirrrgrunchgrunchgrunch BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

"Heavens to Murgatroyd" said I, "I've just hacked my way into an enormous fucking wasp's nest that was concealed by that tarp. I wonder what my considered course of action should be?"

Or, with a lower level of lie, "WASPS! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!" I was off down the garden like Jesse Owens, with the Wasp Luftwaffe in full-on annoyed mode in hot pursuit. After about 30 yards I decided that it'd be safe to stop. Ooops.

"STILL WASPS! AAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGHH" Off I sprinted, in the direction of the river which was conveniently placed (The Water of Leith if you're interested). Skidding to a halt at the top of the bank, I contemplated the ten foot drop into the murky water, and gave myself a mental slap.

"Look, they're not killer bees, they're miles back, and you're not jumping in the fucking river"

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

"OWFUCKOWYABASTARDS"

100 yards of flailing madly while running down a riverbank path shrieking "WAAAAASPS!" later, the little bastards finally gave up.

I decided at that point to respect my insectoid neighbours and steer a wide berth....did I bollocks. Half a gallon of Four Star strategically applied....WHOOOOOMMPH!





BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ


"OWOWOWYAWEECUNTSOW"

Took THREE petrol bombings to take the fuckers out once and for all.

I might have ended up stung, jabbed, lightly toasted, reeking of petrol and with a charred smoking crater for a garden, but I WON!

They came back next year. I left home.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:34, 6 replies)

One time, at band camp...
www.grimdesign.livejournal.com/111773.html

Says it all really... and I've never felt quite so dirty.
( SubCulture Hero ... ... He... .... Comes ... ...., Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:33, 4 replies)

wholly expected horse
i was in the university riding club as an undergrad, and for some reason there were about 6 of us who weren't rich kids, and had never owned a horse or been taught to ride, we were just all a bit horse-mad. The first time we had a riding lesson with the uni club, the instructor had got confused, and thought he had the team to teach, not the beginners. consequently, we got the 6 most neurotic four legged danger beasts the stable owned. I was on one called charlie, who i think was possibly on charlie, who spent the entire lesson cannoning around the indoor school bouncing off the walls, and leaving me with bruises on my legs and arms which have ver quite shifted. Another girl was on one called Foxy, who would gallop or stop, and nothing in between. she spent more time on the ground than on horse. But the best was an old carthorse type called teddy, who looked like butter wouldn't melt, and who everyone was cooing over. He was perfectly docile, and the girl who got him was quite happy with her lot, as they plodded across to the school with me and charlie miles ahead, and everyone else fighting to stay on board. We were dead jealous of her.
then we got into the school. Teddy walked in, sniffed the air, then ran full tilt at the opposite wall, whence he bucked and threw his rider at it.


apart from having to wear a neck brace for 2 months, and never going near a horse again, she was unhurt.

apologies/lenght/hung like horse etc
( ascorbate, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:28, Reply)

when animals are enticed:
www.fmft.net/archives/BBC_NEWS.htm
(Lannes, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:26, 4 replies)

How many do you want?
I have worked at a couple of zoos, and on a farm, and in conservation projects in South America and kept a few odd pets in my time, so I have a fair old list of critters than have got me at one time or another. Mostly almost harmless injuries and generally they were my fault, but sometimes animals get mardy for no apparent reason and you just don't see it coming, or you make a serious mistake... I have been clawed by a (baby) tiger, been swiped at by an oryx, bitten on the face by a spider, had some near misses with deadly snakes, and had a possum sink its fangs into my thumb, but my only really serious injury was at the hands of a coati. For those who don't know them, they are cute little womble-like raccoon things with whiffy noses, orange fur and stripey tail. They make good pets when tamed properly or are nice dociel femles, and are evil fuckers when they are bad tempered males who have been mistreated. You probably know already what I was dealing with.

Anyway, I was at a conservation station in Peru (one of those 'gap year project' thingies that was actually quite crap - badly set-up by people who had no knowldeg of conservation or animal handling) and we ended up with a coati. Our leader (who could not have found his arse with two hands and a map) had decidedin his ignorance that buying unwanted pets form the local population (we were deep in the jungle on the madre dios) would semhow a) not encourgae them to get more pets to sell us by going after the wildlife we we supposed to be protecting, and b) would somehow survive fine once we released them back into the rainforest.

So one day so me farmer turns up with a sack that has apparently been paid for and dumps a large, aggressive and beligerent male coati quite literally on our doorstep. These things are agile and intelligent and as say he was half-tame already and wary, but not afraid of humans. If he was not caught and dealt with (well, released a good few miles away from us) he would hang around the camp, steal food, bite people, kill our own livestock (chcikens and terrapins) and generally be a pain. Only I am one of our guides had any animal experience and the previous owner had left th moment the bag hit the ground, so it wa sup to us. Nando had a decent grab at him and missed, andafter that the coati was wary of him and kept his distance, leaving muggins to do the dirty and catch the little bugger.

Not having handled them before I concluded the best thing to do was to pin him to the floor. Just use my weight and get on hand on his neck and another on his body and simply hold him down so others could bundle him into a sack. I knew that had been teeth and a mean bite, so Iwas going to be cautious. But then I made my big mistake - I took some advice. With this kind of thing, where you don't know the animla you should go with what you know, or at least a technique you have confidence in, but Nando assured me I could scruff him (pick him up by the loose fur at the back of the neck) if I was quick and since he had at least worked with coatis before, I took his advice. Big mistake.

While distracted with some eggs we through to him, the male let me get behind the Uncle Bulgaria-alike as he was been careful to keep Nando is his sights. I nearly went back to my origianl plan, but my friend urged me on, and so I stepped forward, grabbed a handful of skin and fur and lifted.

Coatis, I now know, have a *lot* of loose skin. I barely had him a foot off the ground when he turned and bit my thigh. Hard. Twice. I was immediately left with eight puncture wounds about half an inch deep in my left thigh (four in front and four behind) with a nice line in serious scrathes from all four of the little sod's legs making severl long parallel rakes down my thigh and calf. At this point I let go, but rahter than taking to the hills as you might expect (and as I expected), the damn thing hung on and continuted to scratch and bite. Now, I *do* have expecience with animals, but there are times when thought and training go out the window and you perhaps run around screaming with an angry and growling animal savages your leg and blood turns your socks and boots red and you repreatedly beat it over the head trying to make it let go. This may have been such an occasion. My heroic colleague in the meantime was doubled up with laughter, tears streaming down his face and pointing, barely able to speak even Spanish with hysterics as he wathed my pantomime attempts to remove said animal from my anatomy. Occasionally words like "blood" and "keeps biting" and "funny" would creep out, but noting especially helpful for removing a furry gin-trap from my thigh.

Eventually the thing got bored as far as I could tell s it just let got, dropped off and casually wandered back to the eggs it had left behind and carried on eating. With the nearest town being about 20 miles upstream, medical care was limited to some plasters and antiseptic and I basically had to sit still for three days becuase very time I tried to walk, the wounds would open up again becuase they were so deep, and in the heat and humidity they wouldn't clot quickly. I had scars for about 3 years, both from the teeth and claws.

Distracted by more eggs, Nando caught the coati about two hours later. By pinning it to the ground...


I guess the moral is go with your instincts and trust yourself. Oh yeah, and coatis are mean bastards with lots of skin, no matter how womble-like they might appear.
(Bob the Scutter, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:21, Reply)

When Goats attack
My mum was a geography teacher when I was young. I failed Geography O level deliberately - only one I did fail - to stop her rabbiting on about oxbox lakes and oolitic limestone in the car to me, as if I was bothered...
Anyway, she taught at a fairly rough inner city school in Birmingham, and once had to take her class on a field trip in Oxfordshire somewhere. We turned to the site in my Mum's old Fiat 126, with buttercup decals on the side - this being the early 70s and me being a young lad of six. I think we'd gone under our own steam as Mum was desperate not to have to look after the savages on the coach, and probably told her management I was coach-sick or something.
Anyway, it's a bright summer's day, we arrive at the field trip site, I get out of the car full of the joys etc and then it appears. A beast the like of which I'd never seen before, goats not being commonplace in Birmingham unless eaten in curried form by the West Indians living there.
And it ran at me.

And I ran like a speeding arrow, away from the goat and into the building. And it followed me !

So I ran upstairs.

And it followed me ! How was a beast like that capable of running up stairs. It was neither logical or fair !

I locked myself in a toilet. I could hear it butting against the door. Eventually it was caught, restrained, and I grudgingly opened the door.

I've never liked those fuckers since. Any creature with pupils that are rectangular can't be right.
( I_Was_Mordred, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:17, 2 replies)

I've said this before but
I hate pigeons and if one flies near me at head height I have to stop in the street until it's far enough away for me to stop worrying about it. At which point I usually realise I've been grimacing like a twat and have to rearrange my face to lose the creases of disgust(TM).

This all stemmed from a French exchange trip with school where I'd left my friends and was wandering down a street in Mulhouse. Out of nowhere a nasty French pigeon* swooped across my path and literally slapped me in the face with it's minging wing. Eurgh.

*I assume it was a French pigeon as it was in France, I didn't hear it's accent or stop to check it's passport however so this may be erroneous.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:17, Reply)

Big Dog
So there I was, one fine sunny afternoon, roped into cutting my parents hedge (basturds!), I was standing on an old, rickity ladder trimming the very top of the hedge when I heard someone yell "come here boy!" followed by a friendly bark, I turn my head and I spot down the road the biggest dog I have seen in my life running right at me, this distance between us was closing rapidly, me, awkardly balanced on on old ladder and this half dog half bear half friggin mountain of a beast bearing down on me at high speed.

I did what any sane person would do and jumped off that ladder pretty darn quickly, twisting my ankle in the process, this dog come rushing up to me and.....

gives me a sniff and a leg brush (almost knocking me over) and then investigating the freshly cut private until he found a piece that he couldn;t swallow whole (about twice the size of my hand), he then lifted his leg and releaved himself. Boats could of set sail in the stream he left behind, on the privit I was going to have to pickup later.

Finaly the owner comes over and apologieses for his dog, turns out it's a Newfoundland(size reference) and despite reaching my waist (I'm 6'3") he was only a 6 month puppy.

Just then a kid came skating down the raod, Newfoundland runs over to him to say hi and the kids absolutley craps it, screaming and trying to run from a puppy that almost reached his shoulders.

Well I found it funny.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:16, 2 replies)

Gypsy T Cat
I grew up with cats, my parents had cats before I was born and after I left home, therefore I grew up with the same admiration for moggies.

Gypsy (aka Ahhh Gerroff You Little Git) was my first own cat when I left home. I got him from an old lady who was being moved in to a hospice and was having trouble rehoming him. He was old, grumpy, stuck in his ways, spoilt and had a purr that sounded like Darth Vader with asthma (bad enough that one evening the neighbours phoned me to tell me Gypsy was eating their cats food and he seemed to have some breathing problems).

When Gypsy first moved in with me, we initially had some leadership issues. He thought he was leader of the pride, I thought I was. I wouldn't say he was an evil cat, but he would attack any girlfriends if they were being snuggly with me, rubbed himself against erotically against ladies shoes, attacked bare feet & other cats and I even saw him chase a Muntjac deer out of my back garden.

Gypsy always slept on my bed. I tried to stop him, but he started destroying the doors of the rented flat I was in. First the paint work then the woodwork. This had to end, I had to take charge of him.

It all culminated one night when I was lying bed trying to sleep. Gypsy was in his normal spot on the bed, my left knee. He did the padding thing that most cats do, that sort of gentle massage with claws. But this night he seemed to go on and on. I switched on the light. There was Gypsy, usual spot, padding away but this time he had his little pink penis sticking out and was thrusting it against my knee.

Yelling, I shot out of bed. Gypsy legged it out of the bedroom and in to the front room. I threw on my terry towel dressing gown and went after him. As I rounded the corner I saw him standing on the sofa, staring at me, daring me. I walked toward him and he hissed and growled. I told him the time had come for him to learn who was master. As I got to within about 2 foot of him, he launched.

The next thing I knew I had a hissing, growling cat attached the front of my dressing gown, 6 inches under my nose. He was like a mad, rabid version of those stick on Garfields you used to see on car windows, the claws of all four paws gripping the cloth, eyes staring in to mine and the smell of his rancid cat breath invading my nostrils.

I grabbed him, threw him back on to the sofa and pinned him down. Then I started to roughly mess up his fur, which most cats hate (I couldn't actually do anything really harmful to him). He purred. He purred like he'd never purred before. And from that moment, we never had issues again. Whilst other cats still received the beatings of their lives and visiting lady friends would have to keep their shoes out of his grasp, he didn't attack humans and he knew he wasn't boss anymore. I'd stood up to him and won.

When I got my second rescue cat (Tig), she was pregnant. Gypsy was great with her, but as soon as the kittens were born, he left home. He moved in with an old couple a few doors down from me. They used to give him Weetabix for breakfast, chicken for dinner and salmon for tea. I wasn't overly happy that he had moved on, but I knew he was being fed well and they could spend a lot of time with him, being retired. What I didn't know was that they couldn't afford to pay any vet bills.

I didn't see Gypsy for about two months. Then one evening as I was putting the bin out, I saw him. He had changed from a rough, bruiser cat to a skinny, ill looking bag of bones. I picked him up and he purred. His breath was more rancid than usual. I catnapped him back from the neighbours and took him to the vet the very next day. He had a very seriously infected abscess in his mouth. His kidneys were shutting down (all the good food the neighbours were giving him didn't help). He had to be put down.

I will never forget the emotions of that day. Having to tell the old couple he was dead. Having to bury him. Blaming myself for letting him go and not keeping an eye on him. Wanting to blame them for his death.

This cat had attacked me, my parents, girlfriends and had even molested my left knee, but he was still the best cat I ever had (even though I love my current bunch dearly).

Sorry for length and sad ending, but that really was cathartic!


I've plenty of 'my cats' or 'when I lived in Africa' animal stories, so I'll pick a funny one next time!

Ta

Smurf.
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 16:04, Reply)

When animals attack, attack right back
Back when I was 8 and still living in the states we lived next door to a family that kept as a pet a huge (at the time anyway, i was only little) German Alsation. This thing was massive, loud and really scary - terrifying actually, and the neighbour used to let it out when me and my brother were out back playing in our yard knowing full well that it would scare us both back inside (bastard).

My little brother was great friends with the neighbours youngest at the time so would often go over to spend time out in the back of their yard playing whatever took the imagination of 6 year olds at the time (twatting each-other with sticks if i remember), while I was in our own yard playing on the swing set launching myself off and seeing how far i could go.

As the afternoon drew on, the neighbour decided it was time to let the dog out for his afternoon recreational without checking to see if anyone was in the back yard (the thing was kept locked in it's own room in that house because it had a habit of trying to eat their children if given any chance). Out it went, straight for my brother, where it promtly sank it's teeth into his wrist and wouldn't let go.

The noise was terrible, like a shrill little girl, only higher.

Seeing this, I did what any big brother would do; I jumped the fence and ran at the dog, intent on making it let go (so I wasn't very bright). I ran up and pushed it, it growled at me, so i kicked it (FYI I don't condone this sort of behaviour against animals, but this thing was a monster and a hellion so I still don't feel bad about what I did). It yelped from the kick and released my brother, only to turn and grab hold of me by the arm (left one, right at the elbow, still have the scar).

Now there I was pinned under a great big German Alsation (it was bigger than me and heavier) being used as a chew toy. I couldn't kick it as my legs wouldn't reach. I couldn't punch it as I had (and still do) almost no upper body strength to speak of. Only one course was left open to me.

I bit the f*cker, hard, and didn't let go even after it had released me.

By this time both the neighbours and my parents were rushing out to try and get hold of the situation, but even when the adults came I wouldn't let go, I had this thing yelping like a puppy and trying to get loose and I just bit harder. Eventually we are seperated and the dog bolts inside to the safety of it's own room, where it promptly wets itself. From that day on that dog never once held any fear for me, and would refuse to go out in the yard if it heard my voice outside.

I always wondered if I left any lasting physical marks on the dog, like the scar he gave me..... hard to tell under all that fur.

Length? About 5 minutes of screaming and yelping and blood and tears..... I do aim to please.
(UncleChuckles "Cthulhu fhtagn", Thu 24 Apr 2008, 15:58, 1 reply)

I was attacked by a ninja slug once....
Same park in Coventry as the wasps incident. I was rather pissed one night and play-fighting with my girlfriend when I was grappled to the ground and lay there laughing like the pissed student I was. I got up and we went on our merry way back home. We all got to the house when my other friend peered at the top of my head and saw a slug laying there on a leaf on top of my head. I did the girly thing of screaming and waving my arms about and knocked the slug off my head. There was no serious injuries apart from the terrible hangover I had the next day.

Thank you for letting me share that with you.
( girlinthehole, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 15:52, Reply)

Re-e-e-post...
But I thought it was worthy.

My dear mother used to work in Bolton, and as such used to drive home every evening over a poorly-lit, very twisty road, which is coincidentally very popular with bikers (we're a sadistic lot aren't we?)

One day, she rounds a blind corner doing about 50mph, and there it is, standing in the middle of the road. A fucking massive Pheasant, with a look of pure malice in its small beady eyes.

Startled, she slammed the brakes on and stopped inches away from it.

Unfortunately, the guy in the Range Rover which had been behind her didn't. It ploughed straight into the back of her 3-week-old Toyota Corolla, completely destroying the entire rear end.

Damage to the Pheasant? None. The little fucker walked away, completely nonplussed at the carnage it had just caused.

Damage to the Range Rover? A slight dent to the bullbars on the front.

Damage to my mum's brand new car? £8000 worth. Luckily, she had fully comprehensive insurance.

Not exactly on topic, this, but the moral?

If you see a bird in the middle of the road, run the fucker over.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 15:50, 4 replies)