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My dog died last week, and I'm already sick of people sending me that stupid Rainbow Bridge poem. Tell us about excellent (or rubbish) pets

(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:42)
Pages: Popular, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I had a pet shed
but someone fingered it to death :~(
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 22:36, 2 replies)
Many moons ago, I had three of the most cheeky cats that have ever existed
They used to sit in the branches of my neighbour's tree with their tails hanging down just in range of his two Airedale terriers only to lift them in a synchronised wave whenever the dogs tried to jump up at them.
The leader of the three, a grey ex-feral cat called Chloe that we adopted at a very early age also used to sit on the front wall and swipe at the nose of any dog who dared try to sniff her - She was fearless in the face of barking as well, but fast and accurate enough to avoid being bitten. She also used to bring in a steady stream of small animals - Mice, birds, and even slow worms.
The second one was a white/tortie called Jester that we had rescued from being left abandoned in a plastic bag as a kitten. She used to lie under the bird table amongst the spillage utterly still except for the end of her tail twitching in ambush for any bird brave/stupid/desperate enough to try to get the seeds on the floor - The bell on her collar saved most but not all.
The third, a longhaired tabby fluffball called Dudlie because as a kitten, her extremely flat face made her look like a dud model :p. She was supremely dopey, and helped keep her face flat by constantly trying to walk through the patio door when it was shut.

They are all long gone now, replaced by my current cat, who is 17, and an intact tom called Tasslehof Burrfoot III (I couldn't bear the thought of getting him done). He was the don of the local tomcat society until last year when he retired after being ousted by a cat who was probably one of his offspring anyway :~)
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 22:34, 4 replies)
Anyone told a funny cat story yet?
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 22:15, Reply)
Sinbad The Controlling Rabbit
Rabbits have a strong sense of order, and who should be boss. I tried keeping Sinbad as a House Rabbit, but it was bit exasperating, because he used urine as his preferred tool of control.

I had a litter box for him, but he preferred to pee in contemptuous growing rings all around it. When he wanted attention, he strategically placed himself between whatever chair I was sitting in, and the TV set, and peed. He found cats distasteful, because they had no concept of Rabbit Rules. When I'd open the door to let Sinbad out he'd quickly lift his leg and fling pee on the cats as they raced inside. Half an hour later, when I opened the door again to let Sinbad in, he would again lift his leg and fling pee on the cats heading out.

It's years since he passed on, but I have stains all over the house as reminders. That Swedish sheepherding rabbit, and his dedication to knocking sheep into line, reminds me a lot of Sinbad: www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeuL5IGimCQ
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 22:04, Reply)
this QOTW is either a gift or a curse...
I could use it to tell some tales... I did "devastating put downs" before. I can do tales of the smelly (I spent 15mins looking at dogshit under the microscope this evening). I can do cute (loads of puppies through the door at the moment). Did you know that you can tell if the economy is on the up by the number of puppies that come through our doors? (blown out of water by latest figures though). I could do surgical horror stories but the last time I did that I got in BIG trouble. Someone might even ask what pets I have and I might have to answer. I can do "mental cat ladies"; seriously is 45 in one semi-detached too many? I could do heart-wrenching stories of bravery in the face of a serious illness. I could write all about shaving pussies (at least 3 today). Ah, rats, I might just trot out the tale about the dachshund. I'll give it some thought and might post and might not. Oh. and that sodding "Rainbow bridge" thing? Leave your mawkish sentimentality somewhere else; it makes "away in a manger" seem hardcore.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 21:45, 2 replies)
Pet shop or butchers. Which is cheaper?
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 21:35, 5 replies)
black dog
Taking the dog to the vet again. This is the 3rd time this year. If the vet gave club card points I’d be well on the way to earning a free hamster or half a budgie or something.

Aesthetically he’s fine, the rash he had cleared up nicely. I think the problem stems more from an occult background. I first noticed it when he killed that bird; I never knew that dogs could laugh, other than when cows jump over the moon I mean, but that hasn’t happened in weeks. I’ll have to see what the vet says I suppose.

“I’m afraid, Mr @StooeyKing that you have what we call, in veterinary circles, ‘An Evil Dog’. AEDs are very common within this breed but please rest assured as this problem can easily be cured with fire. If you’d just sign here…”
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 21:32, 1 reply)
the dog, the dog, he’s at it again
Took the dog to the vet yesterday for his yearly M.O.T. He passed with flying colours – all legs present and correct, nose wet, anus still warm and accommodating. His sense of humour is on fine form too as when the vet was checking his heartbeat, Dylan, being the master of comedic timing, chose the exact moment the stethoscope touched him to let out the spirit of the wild in one single, solitary, earth shattering guttural bark. This massive ‘woof’ literally blew the vet’s mind! He jumped up about 2 feet. I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for the veterinarian oath he would have put him to sleep right then and there.

If you haven’t already, I suggest you all at one time or another play Buckaroo with a sleeping Jack Russell. Be sensible though, spatulas and wooden spoons should suffice– don’t be piling on microwaves and washing machines. Pillows are good too– better in fact as the resultant clatter of cutlery when he wakes won’t cause him to bolt and run straight into the patio door resulting in yet another visit to the vet. Although you will be missing out on the follow up game of unflattening the dog’s face. I find the best method of doing this is to place your lips around the dog’s anus– ensuring a tight seal– and blowing. You’ll find his nose will just pop right out with a satisfying ‘floompth’ like a washing up glove.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 21:31, 3 replies)
Not my pet, but
Ken Dodd's dad's dog's dead.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 21:30, 3 replies)
Well, there's my username...
When I was about eight years old I wanted a pet. My parents had owned a setter called Barney before I was born which was apparently the worst dog ever and spent most of its time shitting everywhere and biting stuff (people, furniture, etc.), so dogs were decided to be out of the question.

A rabbit seemed like no trouble, so my dad arranged to take one off a bloke in the pub who kept rabbits, and spent a Sunday in the back garden contructing a quite impressive hutch (he did love his woodwork), and covering much of our garden with an elaborate chicken-wire run.

Snowy was the most beautiful rabbit who was ever born. I thought rabbits were crap, but when he arrived I realised that this was a special rabbit. He was a pristine white bundle of fluffy gorgeousness. He would hop around, always be happy to cuddle, and ate enough to grow -to my young perspective- about as big as a dog, anyway. I would come home from school and spend hours with Snowy. He was even allowed to come in through the patio doors into the back room (wood floor, east to wipe rabbit shit up) for an hour a night. He was my pride and joy, my best friend, and my first pet.

Anyway. As inevitably happens when you live in a fairly rural area, a fox got into the garden one night, and killed him. It didn't even eat him - just got into the hutch enough to maul him to a bloody death.

Naturally, I was inconsolable. I wouldn't go to school. I wanted to hold him, but my dad said he was going to give him a dignified burial, worthy of such a beloved friend, and Snowy would be best left until then. 'But why is he dead?' I asked. 'A fox got him', Mum explained. 'But why?', I asked, in the typical manner of an annoying child. 'Because Jesus decided he was ready to go to rabbit heaven', my Mum lamely explained.

I thought about it for a moment, dried my eyes, and said 'Well Jesus is a fucking cunt.'

The death of Snowy The Rabbit was my first experience of grief, my first dead pet, my BEST pet, and the only time I've ever used foul language in front of my dear mother.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 21:09, 4 replies)
Maybe you shouldn't have gone round crying to everyone about your dog dying if you didn't want them to feel like they had to send you 'sorry your dog died' messages.
I hate it when people tell me that their dog has died because I have to pretend to care whilst secretly being glad because dogs are disgusting noisy shit factories and dog owners are invariably mentals with no social skills.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:57, 6 replies)
Some pisstaking going on but here's a real post.
Somewhere within earshot of me is a "pet dog".

I work from home and I'm an early riser. From 07.00 I hear the dog barking. It's 20.33 and the dog is still barking.

It's not a pet story because if you have a pet dog you care for it's needs, you don't throw it out in all weathers to bark for attention and comfort.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:39, 6 replies)
Not all cats are cunts
My mum grew up in a small cottage in the middle of a wood because my grandparents didn't have a pot to piss in. They kept pigs and chickens, ferrets to catch rabbits, got water from a well and always grew up surrounded by animals.

Of the many pets they had (which included a black chow with a very unpolitically correct name) were a german shepherd dog called Lassie and a cat named Tiny. They generally got on pretty well, but later on into her life Lassie began to lose her sight and as she did so her and Tiny began to have a much closer bond.

When Lassie eventually went blind the two became inseperable. Tiny would stick her tail straight up, then Lassie would put her nose on Tiny's tail tip and then Tiny would lead her around the woods on walkies, making sure the route was obstacle free and ensuring her bezzie mate was able to lead an active life. No one knew how either of them had learnt how to do this, it was just something they had worked out on their own.

When Lassie finally died the cat stopped eating, slept all day and seemed to be pretty ill. When the vet saw her he said health wise she was fine. Diagnosis: dying of a broken heart.

Tiny passed away two weeks after she lost her best friend.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:31, 7 replies)
Two goldfish in a tank
One goldfish says to the other,"I never knew you could drive a tank".
Boom boom.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:29, 2 replies)
About three years ago Mrs Deskbound and myself decided to get a rescue dog.

As both our families had owned pets, we thought we were more than qualified to look after a furry bundle of joy.

We headed off to Battersea Dogs Home one Saturday morning. It was one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life. Anyway, we ended up taking home Dibbs, a Jack Russell cross.

He was a nervous, little fella and had obviously had a bad start to life. We realised how bad a few days later. He'd never been trained (he was just over a year old). He also had extremely bad separation anxiety. So training him and helping him to cope became a full time job. It meant we put our lives on hold.

Despite this, he was such a gentle and loving little guy and he made us both realise things about ourselves and in the end actually brought us closer together.

We made massive strides in helping him to overcome his anxiety. He was fine on the lead and we could even leave him alone without him barking the house down.

But he's a dog and does what dogs do. About a year after we got him, we were taking him for a walk when he caught the scent of something and bolted. The trouble was he was off the lead, albeit in a fenced off area... But he found a hole in the fence and ran out into the road. We didn't see it, but heard the bang. Time slowed down and we ran to see what had happened. He was lying in the road so i stopped the traffic and picked him up. He was still alive but had suffered massive trauma. Some kind passer by stopped their car and took us to a local vets. He died twenty minutes later in my arms.

I think about him most days. He taught me about what unconditional loves is and how something can be totally dependent on you. It was a tough but amazing year and I wouldn't have had it any other way.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:22, 5 replies)
Not my pet, but...

As a child, I suffered from eczema. It went round my body, appearing in unexpected (and unwanted places) and would keep me scratching during the day (I was a nightmare to sit next to in the cinema) and tossing and turing at night, only to wake up to find more patches of skin worn bare. Not nice (but not nearly as bad as some people get it).

With this complaint, I needed constant access to creams that would calm things down, soothe the itching and let me get on with life, albeit with bits of flaky skin coming off one body part or other (lost an eyebrow to it at one point, Lost some hair on my head. Hands a constant nightmare. And other bits, you know...)

On holiday in France, we arrived at a hotel somewhere in the Ardeche. As we got out of the car, we were greeted by an enthusiastic and large boxer, who decided I was the sexiest thing on the planet, and started to lick the backs of my legs- just where the eczema was worst. Obviously the cream was alluring, and needed to be tamed. We managed to get the bags out of the car and check in, with the owner of the hotel holding a good few kilos of boxer at bay. The dog's name was Urss, somewhere between "bear" and the French for the USSR, which was sending similar-looking female athletes our way at the time.

In the room, I discovered that my much-needed cream had been left in the car. I grabbed the car keys, and went down to the car park to get the cream back and attend to my dog-licked legs. This much I managed, before being cornered by Urss, who pinned me against the car and proceeded to try and shag me in every position possible, growling in a way which made me know that escape would be punished. Savagely.

Which is how I was found by the hotel owner, being rogered against a car by a large boxer, whimpering quietly to myself.

I have never been the same since, but still praise the resilience of M&S underwear.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:17, 3 replies)
We had a budgie when I was a kid. For some reason, my dad decided to teach It to recite physical laws. So it would chirp "Entropy always increases" and "In a dilute solution the activity of the solute is directly proportional to the concentration" ( that took a while to learn).

We used to let the budgie out of its cage to fly around the room. One day, after a particularly hard session learning Boyle's law, it was having a flap around. I was playing with a little flying-disc toy I had got out of a cereal pack. For fun, I launched the disc towards the budgie, to see if he would fly with it. Unfortunately the disc hit the budgie on the head and it plummeted to the floor, senseless.

Horrified, I picked him up and replaced him in his cage, lying on the floor, then left the scene of the crime and rushed off to my room to read Whizzer. Pretty soon I heard a shriek from my mother when she discovered the budgie, now lifeless. Poor little budgie: all that knowledge didn't save him. Perhaps we should have taught him aerodynamics or first aid instead.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:10, Reply)
I went to wife's work do just before Christmas.
I slipped on some ice and fell on my arse, just before I had to go in and meet all her colleagues.

This is my sore met story.


Right, see you next week.

(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:04, Reply)

(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:04, Reply)
Dogs need fingering to keep them loyal
This may have been made up by a MOD
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 20:01, 2 replies)
That's it!
I'm starting my own QOTW, who's with me?
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:58, 2 replies)
This is my favourite puppy.


(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:55, Reply)
I have several pets.
They're right good.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:54, Reply)
When I was about 8, I had a hamster named Henry.
I used to throw him at the curtains and he would invariably catch onto them with his sharp little claws and clamber up towards the ceiling.
One day, some relatives were visiting and I decided to show them how well trained Henry was.
I threw him at the curtains, he bounced off and fell on the floor.
The room fell silent. I picked Henry up and took him back to his cage.
He died not long after, but then hamsters don't live long anyway.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:54, Reply)
Pet Trolls
I keep a few in the shed. They are no bother really and they sometimes provide some amusement
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:52, 2 replies)
I'm too important to respect the topic of the QOTW,
and refuse to bow to your time constraints, cunts.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:49, Reply)

(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 19:45, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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