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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.

A time....to die?
I have a really old border collie/ black lab cross called Max. He's a lovely soppy old thing.

Just before Xmas me and Mrs Duck were clearing a space in the living room to put up the tree. Suddenly there was an appalling stink

"What's that terrible smell?" Asks Mrs Duck
"I think Max has farted"
"Jesus, that's so awful it's almost a reason to have the stinky bastard put down"
It was then I had to admit it was me who had farted...she still thought it warranted a death sentence..even more vociferously in fact
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 11:41, 1 reply)
Stupid childhood-ruining gerbils.
My mum bought me and my brother some gerbils when I was six. Apparently because dogs are too much work and cats are shit.
Naturally I was THRILLED about this. A sawdust-filled fishtank full of rattish things – cor! Whizzer!
“How do I pick them up, mum?”
“Well, you just hold their tail like this,” [holds tail] “and gently lift them up. See?”
I thought this was amazing. You could never do that with a dog. In went my delighted little hand, and I picked up one of my beautiful new gerbils by its lovely soft tail. Success!
“Look mum!” I cried. She’ll be so proud, I thought. I’m so happy right now.

Then its fucking tail came off in my hand.

I remember screaming, then the next few weeks are just Spectrum loading noise.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 11:40, 5 replies)
David Ca-MORON's got a pet!!!!!
Nick C-hasn't-got-a-LEGG-to-stand-on!!!!

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 11:31, 1 reply)
My tarantula died and I was somewhat sad. Then I made her into a paper weight and cheered up.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 11:31, 1 reply)
Our labrador was getting on in years, and last month she became really unwell.
The vet was stumped, but because Jo was in so much pain we agreed eventually that the kindest thing to do would be to put her to sleep.

After the deed was done, the vet asked whether an autopsy could be performed to determine the cause of death. We agreed, in case anything they found out could be used to prevent other dogs going the same way.

Turns out they didn't need to touch most of the organs, and we got our beloved pet back the next day mostly complete. She was buried that afternoon minus only her heart.

I'll miss you, Joanna.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 11:28, 17 replies)
They don't allow it in the swimming baths

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 10:30, 4 replies)
what does dog taste like?

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 10:26, 21 replies)
I found my missing cat after two days on the train track.
In three separate pieces.

True story.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 10:23, Reply)
Long Haired Golden Retriever
There is a lack of lulz in this post and its quite long so if you looking for that move along or head to the handy TLDR version wayyyyyyy below

Years ago when I was just a spotty teenager we had a Long Haired Golden Retriever. We got it for a few reasons mainly company, security and the odd time hunting (my family shoots pheasants (not peasants).

So it turns out that the dog was pretty useless at that last part. So useless in fact that as soon as the first shot rang out the dog hit the ground and refused point blank to move. There was nothing else to do so we left him there (we weren't far from home so it wasn't like we abandoned him). 4 hours later we come back and the dog is still there in the same spot. Once it seen we were heading towards the car though he followed quite quickly.

He loved (like most dogs) water or mud or anything that remotely resembled water or mud. Like when it jumped into freshly laid concrete foundations and slowly but quite happily "swam" for a while before we were able to drag him out and sprayed him with the hose for about half an hour, thankfully that done the trick and no vet had to be called.

Was heartbroken years later when he had a stoke and I was half way down the country when I got the news, I went to get a bus home but when I got to the bus station I realized that I had left my ticket for the bus in the house and had 0 money to pay for a new one. Before the next bus (6 or 7 hours later) arrived the dog had been put down, if I had made the bus I would have had the chance to say bye, it wouldn't have meant much for the dog but it would have meant the world to me.

Christ thinking back now I’ve had my fair share of loss when it comes to pets, seen 2 of my dogs get ran over before my eyes (one protecting her pups the other was the pup she saved years later when it followed me out the gate when I was cycling). A day after he died my parents bought me new football boots to keep my spirit up and the first thing I did was go to where we buried him to "show Paddy my new boots".

I went to see Marley and Me with the girlfriend a week after my Westie had died of old age. The end was scene for scene what we did pretty much, wrapped in favourite blanket under a tree in the back yard.

The same Westie though killed 2 of my hamsters (it’s what they are bred for, well maybe not hamsters specifically but ya know) so I had to tell him good dog when he brought them to me.

Then there was the time I was eating Sunday dinner and half way through my Ma asked where the lamb was from to which my Granda replied laughing "well we aren't sure if it’s Larney or Barney" both of whom were my pet lambs

TLDR: gun dog was afraid of loud noises, other dog sacrificed itself to protect its pup who later in life got killed by a car anyway, other dog killed 2 pet hamsters and I ate (at least) one of my lambs
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 10:22, 1 reply)
I had a half ginger tom, half siamese psycho cat
It was the size and colour of a conventional tomcat but with the physique of a siamese, so basically it was a scaled down tiger.

We used to live in a house that backed onto a lake in a park, so it was always bringing interesting presents back, such as frogs (who scream like children and piss themselves when you try and rescue the fuckers), little birds and sometimes fish.

However one day I started hearing an almighty racket from the kitchen, where the cat flap was located. I rushed down to find the normal siamese on the inside of the cat flap and the masssive ginger one on the outside and a really confused and livid goose stuck halfway in and out of the cat flap.

To this day I've got no idea how the insane little fecker had managed not only to get hold of a goose, but somehow get it over an 7 foot fence, drag it down the garden and then shove its head in through the cat flap and then enlist the help of the other cat, or what it thought it would do with it once it got it in.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 10:20, 7 replies)
My Uncles dog.
It was a Golden retriever. Called Goldie. Genius.
He gave her to us when he had to move. This was also after informing us that she had recently done the following 2 acts:
1 - slept peacefully on the landing when burglars noisily broke in to his house and stole a bunch of stuff.
2 - chewed up his Everton season ticket. I'm sure she was trying to do him a favour.

So we ended up with her. She was a grand old beast. Ate my sisters hair bobbles and they never came out the other side.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 10:04, 3 replies)
We had goldfish.
Discovered we had three boys and one girl, when the unfortunate female had her fins worn away through unwanted attention from the males.
Dad partitioned the tank with a sheet of glass, but one of the boys managed to jump it, and continued his advances.
When the girl died, the boys were transferred to the pond, and I'm pretty sure the herons ate them.

Beaky justice for fishy sex offenders.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 9:44, 3 replies)
This QOTW should have been called "Pets II"
then I could have told of the time I made a casserole out of my rabbit that died
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 9:40, 2 replies)
I visited there when I went to Norhumbria.

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 9:09, 1 reply)
We had a Heinz 57 called Bonzo (yes).
At Christmas, we'd give him milk to drink as a treat, and one year, for whatever reasons, my dad's friend's mother-in-law came over. She was great - she drank gin from 9 in the morning, said "Good gracious!" a lot, and taught us rude songs that mum and dad disapproved of.

Towards the afternoon, she started slipping gin into Bonzo's milk, and later on in the evening, I let him out for a piss. He went over to the bush, cocked his leg and fell into it.

Fucking awesome.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:57, 3 replies)
I saw a picture on the internet of a cat in an amusing situation once

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:48, 4 replies)
Me and the wife were living in shit student housing so jumped at the chance of looking after a mates house while she went off on a holiday.

She had a cat and a ferret that had the run of the house. The cat no problem, eat shit sleep.

The ferret I didn't like and avoided, it stank to high heaven for one thing.

The degree of my dislike for the ferret grew when every morning of my stay it would sneak into the room and into the bed, locate my big toe and savagely bite me.

At least it wasn't my nads
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:32, Reply)
We had a cat that disappeared
So we got another one.

That's the great thing about pets. They're easy to replace.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:28, 4 replies)
EmVee once stuck a Lego Bantha up a goat's arse.
I expect.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:19, Reply)
£50 says this is the third shittest QOTW ever.
I had a pet cat once. It died/did a thing/I named it after some flid from Star Trek etc etc. Fuck off.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:17, 4 replies)
Who needs an alarm clock when you have a cat to sit on your chest and miaow into your face while it's still dark outside?

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:12, 4 replies)
My friends and I were sitting around the dining table playing a game
My dog ran into the room, bombed around under the table, then ran out again.
After a few seconds the stench hit us, the little fucker had squirted runny shit over all our legs and feet.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:08, 1 reply)
Rainbow Bridge
I googled this, and apparently, if I get a pet, when I die it will shower me with rainbow kisses. To me this is disgusting and unacceptable, and I would rather go to heaven unaccompanied.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 8:05, 4 replies)
Rude cunting vet.
Wavy lines ago my missus & I had a rat - Floyd.
He was actually my missus' rat but curled around my neck or perched on my shoulder (eating the beginnings of my ear hair) was where Floyd usually sat. Floyd got some lumps. Since we knew it was a tumor we waited a while before we took him to the vets (white & w/color rats seem to have a propensity for growing them) as it wasn't in a spot where it was causing him pain. Eventually the tumor grew and it impeded Floyd being able to move his back legs, he also developed a few more lumps. Floyd at this stage was about 2-3 years old - not bad for a rat.

We made the call. I was going to do it as basically, he had become my rat.
I took him to our local vet. This was an older gentleman who had clearly been in the veterinary game for quite a while. I told him I wanted him to put down my rat. I wasn't quite sobbing but I was pretty close. He looked at me and laughed.
To my face.
I am a bloke who has had to shoot a couple of dogs to "put them out of their pain" growing up on a farm. I've wrung a few mouses necks for the same reason, I've even had to help to sedate and then shoot a horse because it was so badly injured.

Once he realised I was serious he then told me that it would cost me AU$100. I told him to go ahead and I was going to stay in the room. He held Floyd down, jabbed a needle into him (with a squeak from Floyd) and pumped him full of whatever. Floyd wee'd a little a went limp. I held Floyd till he was cold, gave him to the "vet", paid the receptionist and left.

Years later we had another rat, Niffy who again being about 2 yo. developed tumors. My wife, daughter & I knew that the time was nigh.
I took him to our local vets.
They were kind, respectful and compassionate. They put the gas hose over Niffy's face (the vet had warned us that this may actually kill him anyway as it's hard to calibrate the dosage for such a small animal and they didn't have rat-sized masks) and after shaving his front paw pumped death-giving anesthetic into his veins. We were all there to gently hold and love Niffy as he died. They charged me AU$45 which was apparently the cost of the drugs.

The difference in responses might be attributable the age & experience of the vets, it could also be considerable amount of time between both events.
Or it could be that the 1st guy I had been to was an insensitive arsehole who was probably way past his prime.

Here's me with Niffy -

(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 6:02, 11 replies)
Winston the Lovely Bulldog
My old boss had a massive bulldog called Winston. My friend and workmate Mouseface did a pretend fall-over near Winston once, and Winston jumped on him and pinned him down because Mouseface is only little and tried to bum him through his clothes, and everyone pointed and laughed while Mouseface writhed and screamed and tried not to get bummed by a dog.

The End.
(, Fri 1 Feb 2013, 1:23, Reply)
Crying for Mrs. Weeps.
When I was about 8 years old I had a guinea pig. Her name was Mrs. Weeps - on account of the "wheep, wheep" noises she made.
She lived in a hutch about 2' off the ground. This was in Africa so some attempt to stop snakes and rats and the like getting into the hutch was kinda important.

I used to open the front of the hutch and feed Mrs. Weeps all sorts of scraps from the garden. I'd pet her and scratch behind her ears, she'd chomp her lettuce and wheep occasionally.

My mother had 3 dogs. One of them was a pure-bred Great Dane. For those who have never seen 1 they are a big, skinny dog with large heads. Usually quite uncoordinated - basically a good advertisement for large animals needing more than 1 brain. She had his papers and everything. He was called Magnus The Magnificent of Merridale (I'm sure if there are any Great Dane breeders on b3ta they can point me in the right direction to go about proving the veracity of his bloodline). Or Maggie for short. I quite liked him as I could climb onto his back like a horse (yes, he was that big) and pretend to "Hi, ho Silver, Awaaaaay!" He would tolerate this quite calmly and stoically despite being able to make the houseboy and gardener pretty much shit themselves with little more than a look and a low growl.
Maggie noticed Mrs. Weeps in her hutch. He noticed and he liked what he saw.

So there I was one morning feeding Mrs. Weeps when Maggie came up behind me. I tried to shoo him away whilst still blocking the door to Mrs. Weeps hutch. He bodily shoved me aside with his massive head, stuck his head inside the hutch and ate a screaming Mrs. Weeps in two huge mouthfuls.
Everyone came running out of the house to find me wailing that "Maggie ate Mrs. Weeps!" which must have been incredibly hard not to laugh at now that I type it.
I never really got on with Maggie after that & I never owned another guinea pig.

About a year later Maggie died (probably from distemper altho he was about 14). Apparently Great Danes are also prone to arthritis so aside from having to dig the fucking huge hole we buried him in I almost felt a little bad for all those times he played cowboys with me when he probably didn't want to.
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 23:34, 4 replies)
Ok let's get this out of the way then.
I had tame Conservative politicians as pets when I lived in the North East.

Morpeth's Tories
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 23:30, Reply)
In French
'pet' means 'fart', as in Le Pétomane
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 23:27, 4 replies)
CJ died last year. She was not the world's best cat; she wasn't very affectionate, she refused to let you tickle her tummy or chin, she wouldn't sit on your lap. She was basically an eating, shitting refusenik. She went massively downhill last year and then we found her dead on the kitchen floor one morning. We put her in a cardboard box and the kids wrote a farewell message to her and the following evening it was my job to bury her.

We live in Suffolk and the soil here is about six to ten inches before you hit a near impregnable chalk layer. I was in no mood to break that layer, so ten inches was as good as it got. As the rest of the family were bawling their eyes out, I dug the hole. Cat in blanket, check. Farewell letters, check. As the first shovel of soil was heaped on to our dear departed moggie, the wife led the kids inside, to begin the long process of coming to terms with the departure of our beloved pet.

I could then hear the kids asking their mother if they could have some new cats, despite CJ's sister, BJ, still being alive. I muttered some sort of comment to my cat (I got them both from the animal shelter 12 years previously) and started to stamp the freshly dug earth down.

It was at this point that CJ proceeded to meow with every downwards stamp. I think she was dead. Pretty sure. Well, she's dead now.

(She was most definitely dead, but for that split second there I did wonder)
(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 23:18, 4 replies)
My pet needs a poo.

(, Thu 31 Jan 2013, 22:58, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

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