I got bitten on the elbow
by a goat. When I was about 8.

So the next person who tells you goats don't bite, they fucking do. Nippy little cunts.
( Tone Depear fucking rocks, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 20:50, Reply)

Horse Play..
I got kicked in the nuts by mum's horse a few years back. I thought i was going to die from the combination of pain and not being able to breath.

I hope they still work, Or the local glue factory or Mcdonald is going to have a present!

Its not that long so no apologuies for length.

It IS the post we're talking about right?



Right?

/wimpers
( nowimboard shouted "Bring On The Trumpets!" at, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 20:46, Reply)

When animals attack...
I was camping in the woods at the foot of the Brecon Beacons a few years back and the camp was visited by a cute little black puddy tat. It wouldn't come and play, preferring to sit at the edge of the clearing in which we had pitched up, staring meekly at us through the dusk. It gradually moved nearer and nearer, staring all the time, but maintaining a safe distance. Then the little bleeder snapped and started to attack, and appeared to be resistant to hissing, shouting, banging pots & pans, water, and even small stones. Two grown men were forced to spend the evening barricaded inside their tent while a small black cat prowled around outside.
(se8card, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 19:30, Reply)

P-p-p-pick up a penguin
A few years ago, I was travelling in South Africa and ended up at a beach covered in penguins, which was something of a shock.

They were swimming around in between people's legs and sitting on rocks looking pretty so I figured that they must be semi-tame and decided that a picture of me stroking one of the little buggers would be the perfect souvenir of the day.

Two minutes later, here's me with half a fingernail missing and blood streaming down my hand into the briny blue. For something so cute, they have exceptionally sharp and scary beaks. Still, I got my picture, although the penguin's head was a blur as it whipped round to snap at me.
(ReLiC, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 18:26, Reply)

I haven't done this yet...
...but the next fucking dog that licks my legs when I'm peacefully walking along the street wearing shorts is going to get kicked in the face...
( wingpig wish I'd known about liquify eighteen years ago, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 18:24, Reply)

wasps
are merciless killers. just ask an 8 year old me with 20 of the bastards stuck in my hair just for throwing a rock *near* a nest. my hero grandad went and poured petrol down there and blew their bloody doors off though. ha.
malicious little buggers.
(sextuple rooty, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 17:51, Reply)

Rabbits buffed
total to date 73,232.....
(cripps-zoid The rabbit buffer, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 17:29, Reply)

"Oh, he didn't want one..."
I used to have a black lab/siberian husky mix - large as a lab (100 pounds) and strong as a husky, with big gnashing teeth. Despite his lab roots, he HATED water! We gave up giving him baths at about 6 months old because he was too big to control and hated the water that much.

The first time we had him boarded at a certain place, they asked us if we wanted him bathed before we picked him up. "You better not," we said.

"Oh, that's okay," they said, "we know how to handle big dogs like him. We're experts"

"I don't think you should," we cautioned.

"Trust us," they said, so okay, we trusted, but pitied, them.

When we went to pick him up, we asked the big bad dog handler if they gave him a bath.

"No," the guy said calmly, "he didn't want one." As if they had called back to his kennel and he politely considered it and decided to pass. I wonder if any of the staff will be posting their side of this story...
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 17:18, Reply)

Ouch
I was 10 years old, on holiday near St Tropez and it was the day before we were going home. I jumped in the sea for the last time to be confronted with a jellyfish, not a normal one but a Portugese man of war, the really poisonous one. It hit my leg and I screamed the beach down. Never known pain like it.

No-one was kind enough to piss on my leg, so the pharmacist gave me some cream which was crap. My leg went green and purple, kind of mouldy. It went down eventually but I've still got a scar.

Oh and I ran over a dog in a hire car in France once. Yay.
(davefromkent, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 16:56, Reply)

Why the long face?
Horses have very long faces. Often the front of their faces get itchy, and they will then try to rub them against any available surface. A tree, a fence post, or in my case the back of the 8 year old girl who is leading the great big cart horse by a piece of string down a muddy lane.

As the beast dropped his head and came up for a scratch against my back, he managed to wedge his enormous horsey face between my arse cheeks, thereby scooping me up into the air, and landing on my face in the mud.

I let go of the string mid flight. The horse then calmly trampled over me as he walked on to his field.

He still remained my favourite though ;)
(clapper, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 16:37, Reply)

On the other side of the fence
My dog, a border collie by the name of Jess (for 'tis her name), is as nice as pie to anyone who knows her. She is the cutest thing on God's green Earth, just so long as you know her. If you don't know her though... well. She has, to date, bitten at least 5 children, several friends who foolishly tried to stroke her (whilst pissed... dumbasses that they are), and some random who came up to her whilst my back was turned. Although there was an upside to this, the twunting chavs on my estate would never come near me as they were all too scared of my little cute border collie who could be as nice as pie one minute, and Cerberus' little sister the next. I love owning a vicious dog. She also alternatively tries to attack trains, plains, cars, and supertrams, and anything that moves. Oh, and she's addicted to football.

This doesn't make me immune to animals attacking though... wasps. Seven year old kid and friends, plastic sword... stung ankle. To this day I still run a mile whenever I see one of the little cunters.

And that little **pop** you hear is my posting virginity firmly popped... and no apple loggies for height, breadth or taste of post. Or, for that matter, band-wagon jumping which I have no idea what it means... I just keep seeing something about ice-cream vans and having no idea...
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 6 Jun 2005, 16:29, Reply)

Too numerous to list
Here goes:

A cat clawed its way up my face to escape the dog. Nearly took my eye out

I was badly bitten on the fingers by a goose (nasty creatures those damn geese)

I was stung repeatedly on the inside of my lip when a wasp found its way into my cooldrink and I tried to drink it with said wasp inside

A donkey tried to mate with me (thank got for the intervening fence)

I was thrown off a horse and repeatedly trodden on

I narrowly avoided being savaged to death by my friends rottweiller a few times(it managed to eat my glasses during one escape)

My mom takes the cake with having been charged by a Rhino while she clung to a Landrover roof.

Funny though, we all really love animals. Damn things.
(bulleybeef, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 15:19, Reply)

I used to come home from work most nights and find
my flatmate playing Quake 2 on the PC in my bedroom. As these were generally clan matches I would normally sit on my bed and roll a spliff for us to share until he had finished the match.

I had just assembled my materials on my lap when my spider sense tingled. Seconds later the largest house spider I have ever seen emerged from behind a shoe box. It looked directly at me and smelling my fear, waved its front legs menacingly in my direction.

My friend was not scared of spiders so, albeit feeling rather lady-like, I asked for his assistance. He gave the the response you would expect from a stoned Quake player; he ignored me. I asked again, this time with a more serious note in my voice. In return I got a nod and a mumbled "Just a sec..." *explosion* "Bastard!". He continued to play. The spider took a step (or eight) in my direction. Having recently read Dune I decided to use "the voice" on my friend. "Fucking help me or you'll never play Quake again!" I cried in high-pitched, panic-stricken tones. Something about the gay-ness in my voice made him turn around, eyes wide, and look at the floor.

"Holy-fucking-shit that's massive," he said in an I-might-actually-be-a-bit-more-afraid-of-spiders-than-I-let-on type of voice, "and do you know the worst thing? It's between me and the door."

As he lifted his legs up off the floor, the spider turned to face this new threat/prey. Realising this was possibly our only chance of survival, my paralised body was forced into action by my science fiction-addled brain. Remembering the final scene from Arachnophobia I grabbed my can of deodorant from my bedside, sparked my zippo into life and, ignoring the warnings, sprayed my 24 hour protection from wetness and odour directly onto the naked flame, unleashing hell in the direction of the arachnid menace.

The spider realised its mistake too late. It turned back to face me just as a flaming ball of high performance anti-perspirant deodorant ignited it and the carpet around it. In either a final effort to induce recurring nightmares in me or simply the confused panic of a burning insect it ran screaming* around the carpet with a trail of black smoke billowing behind it until finally it came to a slightly crispy stop near the chair my wide-eyed friend was perched upon.

Triumphantly I placed a glass over it (it was still smoking and I wasn't certain yet that it wasn't just stunned and steeling itself for a counter attack) and called my friend a poof while I casually stamped out a small carpet fire.

*Somebody was screaming, it could well have been the beast.
( Jay, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 15:08, Reply)

ducks
in new zealand we fed a family of ducks a load of muesli, so they followed us everywhere, and were right in amongst our feet. the daddy duck stoood on my foot so i picked him up and shoved him toward my missus's face (i made sort of quaking barking shouty noises too, we've all done it)

thats when the mummy duck flew up and attacked me. i was taken by surprise and she got the better of me. in that i fell over, and she continued to attack me until i released her man.
(big fat lazy man on a sofa is giving his piles a bloody good clawing, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 14:45, Reply)

Twunting Animals
I was brought up on a small holding, where many hours were whiled away picking up sodding potatoes from the frozen earth, weeding blasted Broad beans, and picking the caterpillers off the cabbages.

We also had animals....
Geese are nasty viscious pecky twunts. I was running around the garden with one of them attached to my hip (and not in a good way).Still we eat them eventually so who is laughing now??
Chickens are also pecky, but not as big as geese and you can kick them.
Cockerals however are nasty mean gits, who remembered every time you kicked the fence to make him jump, and therefore when he escaped he would make a bee line for the skin betwixt welly boot and shorts with claws.
Dogs are bad too - although she did only attack me because i whacked her with the clothesline pole..accidentally - My parents also thought the lump on the dogs head was Cancer..oops.
I killed a Hamster with spicy noodles - they cannot handle the heat...
Bees are horrible too - Dad kept a few hives - i always got stung.
Cats are excellent though, as are Ducks, Goats and Pigs.
Mum tamed a jackdaw - he was a twunt - another pecky, Star Wars figure gun eating, shit machine.
I also had my brand new Parka Anorak sucked to death by a cow at my Uncles Farm...Long story...

Apologies for Length, Girth, shortness of action, and smell.
(Rockster77, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 14:20, Reply)

Dogs + Knitting Needles = Pain
In 1990 when I was 3, my uber-responsible nanna and granddad had left some knitting needles around. How handy, thought I and proceeded to try and clean their dog's ears with them. Being 3 years old, and not having the steady hand of the older child, I slipped and stabbed the poor mutt in the ear. This was followed by what was described to me as a large painful bark, followed by the screaming of a small, foolish child. I still have a scar from where the dog took a chunk out of my forehead!
(wonderbrawl was pronounced dead on, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 14:09, Reply)

Pig Gets The Chop
When I was around 12 years old back in the mid eighties I lived in a back of beyond Welsh valley town where one day my dad took me to visit my Uncle Jack who had a small holding.
Jack had this big fucking pig that resembled in size a Shetland pony and it was so tame it acted like a dog. Unfortunately for the pig Jack wasn’t interested in a mans best friend relationship, and the pigs card was marked for being the main attraction at Sunday dinner.
Having enlisted my father’s help Jack started playing with the pig who laid down allowing jack to scratch and pat the doomed porker who know doubt thought what a wonderful life it had and happily snorted in pleasure with its eyes closed.
At the given sign from Jack, my dad deftly jumped on the pig holding it down shouting to me to join him as the pig started to get wise to the situation.
It was at this time things started to go a bit wrong when Jack revealed his chosen implement of death, having no doubt agonised for hours at the quickest way to dispatch the pig the stupid bastard pulled out a junior hacksaw and gamely started having a go at the pigs big bulbous leathery neck.
To be fair, before the pig threw me and my dad off Jack had made progress, the down side being that this was at the expense of around 30 odd seconds in which the pig was no doubt in pure agony.
Anyway, having bucked me and my dad off it started chasing jack around the paddock. Bad news for the pig was that Jack had obviously got his jugular on the way and the paddock descended into a surreal scene akin to the part in Clint Eastwoods High Plains Drifter, where he had the town’s people paint the town red.
After about five minutes the pig gave a final lurch in Jacks direction and gave up the ghost leaving behind him a sea of blood that had not only turned the ground muck red, but also made pretty artistic patterns due to arterial spray.
Jack was groaning where the pig had bitten him on the leg and my dad was calling him a tosser for not using something more appropriate. I just stood there traumatised by it all but perked up when my dad bribed me on the way home into saying nothing to my mam buy buying me an ice cream.
Anyway in a bizarre twist of fate Jack died last year of cancer, funnily enough he coughed up his lungs and choked on his own blood, much like the pig.
You got to laugh at the irony.
(If it could happen to me like that i'd shit my pants, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 13:39, Reply)

Two lion cubs at Safari Park
when I was three. There was a woman taking these two lion cubs she was hand rearing for a walk and the started chasing me. Being 3, and knowing it was a lion,(albeit a cutesy lion cubs just wanting to play) and me not being able to comprehend that they weren't going to eat me. My parents stood by laughing, while I'm panicing and running about being chased by a two lion cubs. I haven't forgiven my parents for that.
( Bluesound, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 13:13, Reply)

double whammy
when I was about six, my family were on holiday in some typical tourist resort in majorca (classy). One day after enjoying the delights of the swimming pool I picked my clothes up and started to get dressed, only to be faced with an intense pain in my groin. It turns out I'd put my clothes on top of a red ants' nest and one of the bugges had decided to seek revenge by attatching itself to my winky.

Later on the same holiday, whilst playing on the beach, I was walking along shuffling my feet through the sand when I disturbed a crab. As you can imagine the crab was slightly put out at being kicked about, so it decided to cut the end off my toe.

All in all, not the best holiday I've had :-)
( jonas is not my name, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 13:11, Reply)

About firemen and gophers
This didn't happen to me - I read this in an online magazine, but I love it for its tragicomical touch.

In the woods of Oregon/USA there still are some fire towers, where firemen used to look out for forest fires. It was a very, very lonesome job: sometimes the fireman (one per fire tower) didn't see any other human being for months.
So one day one lonesome fireman decided to form a friendship with a gopher. Unfortunately, the gopher seemed to be a little bitch. It bit the man into his nose - so hard, his eys swoll, and he couldn't see anyting anymore. His next colleague, stationed 40 miles away, had to travel through the woods in order to bring him to a hospital.

I guess this is what to expect when trusting in nature's friendlyness. I really love the impression of the fireman, purring "Will you be my friend?" while holding the little black bitch next to his face, followed by a cracking sound (like the one from a hearty bite into an apple) and the echos of some sweary curses echoing through the endless, foggy woods of Oregon/USA.


You can read the original article here, in German language)
(hoopyfrood really knows where his towel is, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 12:52, Reply)

I chopped a squirrel's tail with my Sabatier cleaver
It was in my loft and its scrabbling for 2 months had driven me to insanity. It's lack of attack perturbed me so as it tried to run away, I chopped at it with my cleaver - I was that desperate - I had the tail as a trophy until my girlfriend put it in the bin. It's growl thereafter, did indeed seem quite as if it came from Lucifer instead - how strange...
(kevsbald, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 12:46, Reply)

Crabs...
Not me but my brother...

Walking home from the beach one day my baby brother, aged about four, started to whinge and whine and generally be annoying. After a while he starting to cry properly. Unable to discover a reason for this my mum finally lost her patience and snapped at him to be quiet.

When we got back to the house, mum asked him to get into the bath. On removing my brothers pants, she found a little crab hanging from his gentleman bits...

Brother spent the rest of his holiday enjoying many presents and treats...
(Dullasditchwater, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 12:41, Reply)

When spiders attack...each other
It was about 4 in the morning and I'd gotten up to take a leak, bleary-eyed and a bit stoned and pissed. I went into our downstairs toilet, switched on the light, lifted the seat, and let nature take its course. Near to one of my bare feet, a massive house spider crawled out from the skirting board. Now I'm not scared of spiders, so I thought "You stay there and I'll stay here and we'll be fine." Then a second spider emerged from the skirting, identical to the first. They circled each other warily, then began fighting in a writhing-ball-of-tangled-legs-zipping-across-the-lino-like-nobody's-business kind of way. I hurriedly finished pissing and backed away from the little bastards, now chasing each other up and down the wall, across the floor and around the base of the toilet, not realising that the toilet door opened inwards, and to leave I would have to go forwards to get out - far too close to the hairy wee buggers for my liking. The spiders didn't seem to notice though, they were far more interested in trying to kill each other.

The next morning I found a spider corpse next to the toilet, leaving me with the disquieting knowledge that there was still one massive spider in the house - and it was a murderer.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 12:33, Reply)

Chicken
My cousin was attacked by a headless chicken.

That's all I have to say on the matter.
(mudflaps, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 12:07, Reply)

Flesh-eating beasts
When I was at school (aged about 13, roughly 12 years ago), we were taken for RE in the dining hall, as the terrapin (crappy MDF box on stilts to our American readers) we normally used was out of order. Notice that, as a dining hall, food was served and consumed in this room on a daily basis.

As the (tedious) lesson progressed, three of us became aware of small, black tick-like things crawling over our books and pencil cases. Looking up, we saw that we were directly underneath a huge, Alien-style nest, with many more of the creatures swarming about on the ceiling. We alerted the teacher, but were told not to "make a fuss about nothing". We were not even allowed to move to a different table.

Needless to say, half-an-hour later these things were crawling all over us - under our clothes, into our noses and mouths, everywhere. Again, we drew the teacher's attention to this, now escalated situation and were sent home to shower and change clothes.

Cue shitty letters and phone calls from our naturally horrifed parents. The school did nothing, and continued to allow students to eat lunch in this room.

Comprehensive school, obviously, but I turned out alright.
(noir, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 11:47, Reply)

near miss
was walking along in alton towers once a few years ago, and i saw this jackdaw (smaller version of a crow) flying in the opposite direction to me, about to go overhead. Something about the straight-as-a-bullet course it was keeping and the bizarre sense of purpose made a small voice speak up in my head - "that's going to shit on you." it proclaimed. Not wanting to ride oblivion covered in shite, I duly stopped walking, and lo, shite did land on the path just infront of my feet. I then stepped over it, feeling very smug indeed that i'd foiled yet another plot by the animal kingdom to ruin my day.
(cap'nj, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 11:32, Reply)

Foolhardy
Being a real dog lover, I was overjoyed to find that my new housemate owned two of the beauties. One, a runty but very sweet lady alsatian, and t'other an enormous male black rottweiler/labrador cross.

Imagine my suprise when I came home one day to find Major doing it to Thatcher in the garden (the names are a whole other story)! In a fit of female solidarity I ran outside and kicked Major up the arse.

Yes. That's right. I kicked a 9 stone rottweiler in his arse, while he was on the job. Not my wisest move.

However it was the alsatian who turned round and growled at me proving that a) Rotties can be soft as shite, and b) never deprive a lady of her pleasures.
(clapper, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 10:56, Reply)

Petting zoos - I love 'em...
As a country girl from the rurals of the fens (no webbed toes, mind), I once made an ill-advised attempt to educate the city-born bf in the delights of country life and took him to a petting zoo...

It was a lovely sunny day, so we bought some bags of food and skipped as far as the baby goats' pen, before starting to dish out our feed.

Knowing something about the mischievous nature of farmyard animals, I advised the other half to keep his bag out of reach of the goats and feed from his hand, but City-Boy knew it all and it wasn't long before the goats were swarming around him, ripping the feed bag from his hands and gutsing the lot (including the bag).

Strictly speaking, not a physical attack (except in my fantasies as City-Boy turned out to be a complete cnut).
(spacecowgirl, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 10:50, Reply)

Scaryduck...
I had a similar experience on Saturday night. Woke up for no reason in particular. There's a fookin' huge (size of my thumb) house spider sitting on the duvet staring straight at me. Seriously it was bout 2cms away from my lower lip, which, by now, was quivering severely. Of course I screamed. Scared the shit out of my girlfriend and flung the monstrous hellbeast across the room. It landed on a pile of clothes and we deftly scooped it up in a peice of tupperware and put it outside. Now, I consider this to be one of the most courageous moments of my life, given my unfeasably irrational terror of all things small and crawly. I was Arnie that night, and that housespider was evil terrorist scum.
( mrlogic is copying your beard, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 10:35, Reply)

A load of bull...
When I was younger we used to go and stay with some friends on a farm. One morning my brother and I were sent out into the field to milk the cow. Pail in hand, we cheerily skipped into the field. About three hours later we came back. Knackered. We'd spent the whole time chasing the cow around the field and it wouldn't let us milk it. That was when they told us it wasn't a cow.

Imagine the horror of a two-ton bull deciding to turn on a pair of helpless little under-tens.

Or imagine, if you will, that we'd managed to 'milk' it - returning to the house with a pail full of warm white liquid, proudly wearing little white moustaches.
( mrlogic is copying your beard, Mon 6 Jun 2005, 10:31, Reply)