This reminded of a story my former co-worker used to tell. She had two Rottweilers who were impeccably trained. One day she was cooking some meat in a pan on the stove, and suddenly had to leave the house on an errand. She turned off the burner and put a lid on the pan before she left. When she got back and removed the lid, the meat was gone. :eek:
Emily used to instantly hop off the couch whenever we would ask politely, in a normal voice, “Emily, may I please sit there?”
Before my time, my mother’s family had a Dalmatian named Duke. They still talk about that dog to this day, and he lived more than 30 years ago.
He almost got the maid fired because my grandmother suspected she was stealing frozen chickens. But one day Katie (my gm) caught Duke opening the freezer door. She hid and watched him to see what he would do. He took the frozen chicken out and closed the door with his rump. He then trotted into the living room and proceeded to bury the chicken in the indoor planter they had running along one wall. Katie later excavated about 6 frozen chickens from the planter.
Duke had a favorite chair. It was his chair…nobody else ever sat in it. That is, until Uncle Vernon came to visit from out of town. Being ignorant of the chair’s ownership, he sat down and made himself comfortable for a nice long visit. Duke was visibly perturbed, but too polite to bark or jump up on a guest. Inspiration struck. Duke went to the front door and scratched to be let out. Now, everyone else present knew what was going on, so they pretended not to notice. When no one got up, Duke scratched again. Uncle Vernon looks around and realizes no one else is going to do it. So he gets up and heads for the door. Duke is a black-and-white streak as he runs back down the hall and lands in his chair, triumphant.
Uncle Vernon moved to couch.
I could tell more stories about Duke, but I think I’ll move on to Lacy, another Dalmatian.
I had a really ugly candle shaped like a bird’s nest with two baby birds in it that had been given to me as a gift. Since it was a gift, I didn’t want to just throw it away, but it was ugly enough that I didn’t care to display it, either. So it resided on the bottom shelf of my closet. One day I discovered that the baby birds had been decapitated. The nest was in the exact same place it had been…no teeth marks on any part of the candle. Just two missing birdy heads. Lacy must have somehow just gone “Snip!” one head gone. “Snip!” Other head gone. No trace of the heads were ever found.
Lacy once also managed to TP our house when we were gone to church. She wasn’t allowed in the house when we weren’t there, but someone accidentally left the door open. We walk in and there is toilet paper…everywhere. All through the house, upstairs and down. She didn’t get into anything else, she was having so much fun with the TP. My mother was mortified because my sister had brought home a friend of hers whose mother always kept their house immaculate.
And then there was the time Lacy got into my sister’s acrylic paints. We called her “the rainbow dog” for a month.
And then there was the time…
Okay, I’ll shut up now.
No, please continue. The buried chickens had me lughing hysterically.
Okay the beheaded birdies were a bit unnerving (obviously), even if they were wax.
The only impressive thing either of my babies have done: I bought a toy mouse that would vibrate when you pulled the string. I once found Shilla holding the mouse in his paws, and pulling on the string with his teeth.
Of course, they regularly get trapped in my bedroom because the heater blows the door closed, or nearly closed. They can’t figure out how to open the door even though there’s an inch between the door and the frame. :rolleyes:
Tipzy (the dog, “Dogzilla” IRL)
Tribble (cat #1, aka Bitch Kitty)
**Got Milk? (cat #2, aka Houdini Man) **-- This is the pet who gets up to all the shenanigans.
Well, if you insist…(twist my arm, why dontcha?! :D)
Scruffy was a black Lab who belonged to my cousins. She truly believed she was one of “the kids.” She was fond of Beer and Coke, and would tip over the cans to get a drink. Like all Labs, she loved water. But she would use the ladder not only to get out of the pool, but also to get into it. (That is, when she wasn’t jumping off the diving board.) After all, that was the way we kids did it so that’s how she would do it, too.
My favorite Scruffy story, though, involves a bridge. We used to spend our summers at the lake, and Scruffy loved to go in the boat along with us. She’d put her paws up on the front seat and let the wind blow her ears back. She didn’t have very good depth perception, though. Whenever we went under the bridge, which was hundreds of feet above us, she’d duck. A truly hilarious sight to see.
How about a bird story?
Let me introduce Sweet Pea, a parakeet belonging to same family referenced above. My cousin, Richard, was a little imp of a kid…good natured, but always getting into trouble. Keep in mind this family is from Arkansas, and my Aunt Susie has an especially loud Arkansas twang. Sweet Pea’s first word?
RIIIIICHHAAAAAAAARRRRRD!
That one might actually be funnier if you had known Richard and heard the bird imitate my Aunt perfectly.
Oh, let’s see…I know we have more stories. I’ll have to call my Mom and see if she can remind me of any. My family is truly fanatical about animals, dogs especially. At Thanksgiving we had five dogs and a cat running around because no one could bear to leave their babies at home.
Well… my pet humans give me tummyrubs and food and catnip on command… that’s pretty amazing… but they aren’t all that good at understanding me. Sigh Well, I’ve only had them for six months or so, but you woulda thought by then they’d understand that “MEOW” means catnip, “Meow” means tummyrubs, and “meow” means food…
When I was little, we had a German Shepherd named Achmed (“dark one” in Arabic, or so I’m told). He was a police dog— he’d work with his officer most days, but lived full-time with us. He did any number of amazing and intelligent things, but my favorite stories revolve around him stealing something and then tempting you to try to get it back from him. Every single morning, without fail, he would steal either my sister’s underpants or her sock. Then he would back out of her room, letting them dangle by the barest thread from his teeth. If she’d try to grab them back, he’d turn his head just enough so that she’d miss. Chasing would ensue. So, every morning, the household would hear her yelling, “Achme-e-e-e-e-d!!! It’s not FUNNY!” Every morning. He obviously thought it was-- you could see the delight oozing off him. He would also play this game with pinecones, balls, Frisbees, and, most infamously, one single thread draped over one of his lower teeth.
One day my parents had left him tied up in front of a store while they went in to grab a few things. Tied up next to him was a small yappy dog. Achmed loathed small yappy dogs-- he would terrorize them whenever he knew he could get away with it. This dog kept yapping away at him, and suddenly my parents heard the yapping cease from outside. Worried that Achmed had attacked, they ran out of the store, only to find him sitting with his paw on top of the little dog’s head, pinning it to the ground so that the little one couldn’t bark. Achmed had his head turned away, looking terribly innocent, as if he wasn’t even aware that his paw was pinning another animal.
My kitties will watch nature shows with tigers and lions on them.
My dog (a Golden Retriever) goes down slides on command, uses the ladder to climb out of the lake at the swimming dock, and knocks on the doorknob to be let out/inside.
My aunt and uncle’s dog, a Welsh Terrier, will sit on your lap, look into your eyes, and gently stroke your cheeks with her paws when she’s feeling especially loving. It’s very sweet.
I went to McDonalds one day and when I came back Jackson (the jack russel terrier) started giving me puppy eyes, begging for something to eat. Eventually I gave in, and threw him a cheese burger outside. Five minutes later I went out to check up on him and the picky little bastard neatly left the two buns AND the pickles in a line next to each other. All he wanted was the pattie.
Pah. My cat defies the laws of physics.
Starting quarterback for an NFL franchise.
My dog pooped on a soccer ball.
Isn’t the dog in THHGTTG actually in So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish? I think its called Bozo the non-wonder dog or something like that. Any got the books in front of them or a better memory than I do?
In other pet stories, the line in the Kevin Smith movie “Mallrats” about being “faster than Walt Flanagan’s dog” refers to how his friend Walt wouldn’t stop bragging about this dog that he had just purchased. He was just here on his speaking tour and said they first screened the film at a comic convention, and after they said the line, Flanagan and only Flanagan burst out laughing. Smith said, “yep, we make these movies for one person at a time.”
Cats:
New kitten- Climbs into the refridgerator whenever it opens. Not just climbs, runs screaming like a banshee into the kitchen to climb into the fridge.
Callie- cries when you sneeze. Even when you fake it, she meows and rubs her head on the ground.
Dog:
Will take food from your lips, even his milkbones. Just growl at him and he’ll sit back down until you let him know it’s okay to take.
Horse:
Whenever the water trough is frozen, he walks up to it and bands on the ice. “Thud…thud…thud…crack!”
Then he drinks, pushing the ice out of his way. Who needs water heaters?
He also bangs on the ice to break it sometimes too.
argh.
My mother had a budgie that would drink martinis out of her glass. He’d also eat chicken off the side of her dinner plate, which always seemed a shade cannibalistic if you ask me.
My budgie was an escape artist. He kept getting the cage door open so I fastened it shut with a little wire tie. Then he started using his beak to saw through the wire.
I had a small mutt dog named Nicky when I was a kid who was allowed to stay in the basement when the weather was bad. He apparently was a bit bored one day and found a ball of yarn to play with. When I went down to the basement it looked like some deranged spider’s web with yarn wound around all the furniture.
My best guy though is my gray tabby cat who just turned fifteen this year. He loved to play the fetch game with paperwads when he was younger and more agile. I used to try to throw the paper in various odd places to see how he would get to it. Once I tossed it into a corner of my bedroom between a dresser and a tall, open bookcase. He jumped up on top of the dresser and dropped down to the floor to get the paperwad but once he had it he didn’t have enough room to jump all the way back up to the dresser. He sat there for a minute or two looking around and then he started climbing the shelves of the bookcase paw over paw like it was a ladder until he was free. It was hilarious.
I had a parakeet named Dixie who either had nine lives like a cat, or the heart of a lion. This bird stared death in the face and laughed. Some of the traumas she survived:
–Being caught by my dog. (Although I truly believe Lou was just playing…if she had wanted to kill Dixie, it would’ve taken one bite, but all Dixie lost was her tail feathers.)
–Nearly drowning in the toilet.
–Nearly being sucked up by the vacuum.
–Escaping outdoors. At night.
–Being caught by my cat. (And Sophie definitely was NOT playing. I was just lucky enough to get there in time.)
Unfortunately, old age got Dixie in the end. I still miss that dumb bird.
And finally, I’ll tell you about Gibby. Gibby was an elderly Chihuahua who had my grandmother totally fooled. She spoiled that dog rotten. Once upon a time, my grandparents wanted to travel but didn’t want to put poor, frail Gibby in a kennel. So my Mother volunteered to babysit.
Katie (my g.m.) left all kinds of detailed instructions:
Gibby’s legs are very weak…he needs to be picked up if he wants on the couch or down the stairs.
Gibby has trouble eating…his food must be cut up into tiny pieces and hand-fed to him. No dry food, and no dog food at all if possible. Gibby prefers KFC chicken.
Gibby needs at least a couple of hours a day in a quiet, dark room to rest.
And on…and on. Gibby had the part down perfectly, too. When Katie dropped him off, he hobbled in and laid down as if the car ride had completely exhausted him. You’d think this dog was at death’s door.
Nope. The second Katie went out the door, Gibby came alive. Ran all over the house, up and over the furniture, up and down the stairs. He gobbled down the dog food my Mom gave him (both dry and canned). He was as healthy as a puppy, and a holy terror to boot. Of course, as soon as Katie came back to pick him up, the arthritis and his sensitive tummy came back.
That dog deserved an Oscar.
It was Know-nothing Bozo the non-wonder dog, and he looked similar to Ronald Reagan. The friends of Know-nothing’s owner would tease it and make it bark by shouting “Commies!” at it, just as I have trained my dog to do. It was in THHGTTG.
Boone the beagle is also trained to ring a small bell mounted by the back door whenever she has to go outside, but when we sit down to dinner, Boone will ring her bell to try and fool you into getting up. I don’t know why, because she doesn’t try to steal food or anything, she just enjoys interrupting my dinner, I guess.
I have a cat who will fetch on command. Dunno how she learned it, but she did.
OK, this reminded me of one more Emily story.
Mr. S was her best buddy, and he always shared his food with her. Sometimes that food was a cheeseburger from the McD’s drive-through. One day we were at a local mom-and-pop burger stand, and Mr. S decided to get Emily her very own cheeseburger along with his own. He came out with the two burgers, unwrapped one, and laid it on the wrapper on the ground in front of her. She briefly sniffed it and looked up at him as he ate his burger. She wanted half of what HE had! She just didn’t get the concept of having her own.
After that, he would buy the two burgers and give her the second half of each one. Silly dog!
