Dog Stories

The best Urban Legend about dogs which I ever heard goes as follows.



A husband and wife go on a day trip early one morning, leaving the dog at home alone.

When they return, they find their dog dead on the floor, lying in a large pool of urine, beneath a hole in the roof and ceiling above the dog.

The couple call police and report "a very strange break-in." They tell police, "It is as though a burglar took an axe, cut his way into the house through the roof, climbed into the house, killed the dog, peed on the dog, and then left through the hole in the roof without taking anything! It is so wierd!"

When the police do a DNA check on the urine, they call the couple and say, "Listen, we have some interesting news about your burglary. Apparently, an analysis of the urine on your floor indicates that about 200 people contributed to the puddle. So, apparently 200 people climbed through that hole in your roof and peed on the dead dog!"

"What??????????!!!!!!!!!!" the husband and wife respond, "That's crazy!!!!!!!!!!"

Then, someone figured it out.

Apparently, one of the passenger jets landing at the nearby airport emptied its toilet to the ground just before landing. Because the jet had been flying so high, at 33,000 feet, the air around the plane had been extremely cold, freezing the urine solid, so that a large chunk of ice made of frozen pee had fallen out of the plane, crash through the roof, struck and killed the dog and then melted.

I think that probably that urban legend gave rise to this photo -- a dead man speared by frozen pee...

http://www.blogcdn.com/www.gadling.com/media/2007/05/frozurine.jpg



Okay, that's one dog story I don't quite believe, but I can assure you that the following two dog stories are absolutely true...



Aunt Nancy and Uncle Mike had a dog. I think that it was an Irish setter. One day Aunt Nancy made some meat loaf in a glass Pyrex dish, and left it on the counter too high for the dog to reach, to let it cool while they went out.

While they were away, the dog really coveted that meat loaf. He smelled the scent of it. His saliva ran like a champion dog at the Pavlovian Institute. He wanted that meat loaf, and he had to get it! He tried for hours to get at that meat loaf. He jumped and jumped and jumped, reaching as far back across that counter as he could, with each jump.

Finally, victory! He managed to actually touch the bowl and upset it, and so slide it forward slightly! The next jump was enough to reach the bowl, pull it forward to the edge of the counter and onto the floor, where the bowl shattered and glass and meat loaf splattered everywhere!

He couldn't hold himself back. He ran from one chunk of meatloaf to the next, gulping it down -- broken glass and all.

When Uncle Mike and Aunt Nancy got home, it was too late -- the dog lay dead on the floor, from internal bleeding.

Mike Eitelman should verify the essence of the truth of that story. (Maybe he'll say, "Ah, Pete, why did you have to tell that story! I always thought that he died a hero, like Lassie!")



Here is the other absolutely true story.



Sandy, that nasty little cocker spaniel in the Dawson house, used to lo-o-o-o-ove the feel of knits in his mouth, AND the smell of girls' hormones.

One Winter day, beautiful Sheila Paton came over from next door, and she made the mistake of leaving her knit hat on the sofa. Sandy sauntered over, smelled her knit hat, grabbed it with his teeth, and ran over to beneath the piano, snarling viciously at all prospective challengers.

I said, "Oh, no!!!," and, ashamed to dramatize that this disgusting dog had the better of us, in front of this beautiful lady I had a crush on, I went over to the piano and grabbed Sandy by the harness and pulled him out, as he snarled at me with rage.

Determined to save Sheila's hat, I dragged Sandy over to the living room steps, positioned him face-first into the steps, and sat on him, carefully cupping my feet behind his rear end so that he could not escape.

Sandy was so filled with doggy rage, by this procedure, that I think that he invited all the demons of Hell to enter him, possess him and strengthen him.

As he got angrier and angrier, I managed to work the knit hat out of his jaws and throw it to Sheila, who, upset by all of this, left and went home.

Sandy, in the mean time, began to snarl and scream with the most ingodly, unnatural sounds that ever came out of a dog.

With the powers of Satan mobilizing his legs, he got up on all fours, lifting my 190 pounds with him. It dawned on me, "Holy Mother of God! If he is angry enough to do this, he is angry enough to rip out my throat and kill me!" So, I was afraid to jump off, freeing him to attack me.

I couldn't find an appropriate photo of a man riding a dog on the web. The Google shots always show little kids riding big dogs. But I did find this, to convey the scale of what was occurring. Instead of a full grown man riding a to coal car, imagine that is me with Sandy the cocker spaniel under me...

http://museumvictoria.com.au/collections/itemimages/241/758/241758_large.jpg

That's about what was occurring.

Sandy walked in a circle around the room, about 7 feet in diameter, or about 21 feet in circumference, with me, the 190 pound guy, on his back, riding him like a horse.

When he returned to the foot of the staircase, I jumped off and bolted up the steps.

Sandy, with demonic eyes, ran up the steps after me, to rip out my throat.

When he was close enough, I punched him in the face, and he flew down the steps and hit the landing.

He ran up again, and I kicked him, and he fell down again.

This time he stayed down, afraid of me, barking nastily.

That's love!