Aw shucks. I lost a dog before. Musta had that dog for somewhere around 15 years. 'Cept mine at least died of old age. If bums ate my dog I would REALLY have been heart broken.
Ok, I shall tell the epic tale of how the hobos ate my dog, since the thread was effectively derailed from its topic.
Ok, well my dog, we got him as a puppy. It was a mix between a cocker spaniel and and some mutt; but it turned out to be a really beautiful dog. The best thing about him? It was HUGE and powerful and amazingly angry at anyone who didn't smell like our house. In Russia, there's a lot of just stray dogs running around in packs, but we had a nice big and barren "backyard" which faced the residential dump (which often burned at night) where we let the dog live. Even made the doghouse and everything. See, in Russia, hobos find comfort in the burnt-out dump containers, while they're still warm. There was this one particularily old guy, whom we pitied and gave our beer bottles to (Russians, alcoholism, etc) so he came by a lot and saw the dog, quite a lot. Well, one day we come back from school/work/gymnastics, the dog's gone! Oh no! And the fence isn't broken, the lock is just open and the leash and hanging there. Of course, mom went to look for him, all in tears and crying because, well, she was upset. We looked everywhere, until later, the hobo bottle guy came up to us and told my mom "He's gooone, dun' look for him anymore"
Of course, what else would we have to do? There's nothing like a nice american dog pound, so the dog was gone.
This is where the ...bad part begins.
So, everyone's upset and go sleep early. Afer tosing around in bed, I heard Rick bark! From really far away, but I could have sword I did. I snuck out at dusk to look for Rick (dog) once again. I walked by the burning dump, past the dirt piles, until I came upon a bit of black and white fur. Of course, it was getting late and a little girl REALLY shouldn't be wandering the Russian streets. But, uh...as one would put it, humna curiosity urged me to keep going.
I turned aroudn the corner and I saw a LOT of Rick's fur, it was around one of those weird half-house things that stood empty for hobos to live in. Except it really wasn't empty and...ughhh.
There was my dog, skinned and dead. And they were cutting ut up by a fire to roast it. I didn't puke, I just had the urge to run the hell away and I did. I came back home at 1 in the morning and then I couldn't sleep. That was pretty traumatizing, I guess. I stayed up all night in the kitched, reading Tom Sawyer and stuff like that.
So, that's the story of my dog that got eaten by hobos in Russia ><
OH! I totally forgot. One year at my school...there was a freaking GAS LEAK! Reports showed that if a single spark had come into contact with the gas, it would have blown up half of the school, and half of the elementary school next door! We were quickly evacuated, and there were policemen and firemen running all over....we had to evacuate all the way back into the woods far behind the school...just to be safe. Man that was cool.
We had a gas leak one time, too. They detected it during first period, and finally figured out during the last period that it wasn't dangerous. It was something to do with deisel fuel or something like that. It's not like they, you know, evacuated us just in case while it was dangerous while they were figuring this all out. We just continued the school day as usual, except for the weird smell filling all the classrooms. Kind of a disappointment, but at least nobody died.
My music teacher who everyone liked as he was a great teacher, turned out to be a paedophile who downloaded child porn off of the internet. (Incidentally, anyone ever wondered how they find that sort of shit? I mean I doubt you can just type "Child porn" into google)
We also had a chemistry lab which was being refurbished, and as such, only one gas tap was working, so rather than do the demonstration at the back of the room, our teacher uses rubber tubing to extend the length of the bunsen burner, except it is such a shoddy job that within seconds the room stunk of gas, and it had to be turned off at the mains.
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Ok, I shall tell the epic tale of how the hobos ate my dog, since the thread was effectively derailed from its topic.
Ok, well my dog, we got him as a puppy. It was a mix between a cocker spaniel and and some mutt; but it turned out to be a really beautiful dog. The best thing about him? It was HUGE and powerful and amazingly angry at anyone who didn't smell like our house. In Russia, there's a lot of just stray dogs running around in packs, but we had a nice big and barren "backyard" which faced the residential dump (which often burned at night) where we let the dog live. Even made the doghouse and everything. See, in Russia, hobos find comfort in the burnt-out dump containers, while they're still warm. There was this one particularily old guy, whom we pitied and gave our beer bottles to (Russians, alcoholism, etc) so he came by a lot and saw the dog, quite a lot. Well, one day we come back from school/work/gymnastics, the dog's gone! Oh no! And the fence isn't broken, the lock is just open and the leash and hanging there. Of course, mom went to look for him, all in tears and crying because, well, she was upset. We looked everywhere, until later, the hobo bottle guy came up to us and told my mom "He's gooone, dun' look for him anymore"
Of course, what else would we have to do? There's nothing like a nice american dog pound, so the dog was gone.
This is where the ...bad part begins.
So, everyone's upset and go sleep early. Afer tosing around in bed, I heard Rick bark! From really far away, but I could have sword I did. I snuck out at dusk to look for Rick (dog) once again. I walked by the burning dump, past the dirt piles, until I came upon a bit of black and white fur. Of course, it was getting late and a little girl REALLY shouldn't be wandering the Russian streets. But, uh...as one would put it, humna curiosity urged me to keep going.
I turned aroudn the corner and I saw a LOT of Rick's fur, it was around one of those weird half-house things that stood empty for hobos to live in. Except it really wasn't empty and...ughhh.
There was my dog, skinned and dead. And they were cutting ut up by a fire to roast it. I didn't puke, I just had the urge to run the hell away and I did. I came back home at 1 in the morning and then I couldn't sleep. That was pretty traumatizing, I guess. I stayed up all night in the kitched, reading Tom Sawyer and stuff like that.
So, that's the story of my dog that got eaten by hobos in Russia ><
That would be really traumatizing. I can't imagine what I'd do if someone killed my dog, much less ate him. I imagine violence would be involved.
My music teacher who everyone liked as he was a great teacher, turned out to be a paedophile who downloaded child porn off of the internet. (Incidentally, anyone ever wondered how they find that sort of shit? I mean I doubt you can just type "Child porn" into google)
We also had a chemistry lab which was being refurbished, and as such, only one gas tap was working, so rather than do the demonstration at the back of the room, our teacher uses rubber tubing to extend the length of the bunsen burner, except it is such a shoddy job that within seconds the room stunk of gas, and it had to be turned off at the mains.
*Dryest look you could ever imagine*
Damn potsmoke!