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Write a story about your pet
Wyatt Jackson
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Grayson Morales
I pet spot
He wag
I pet spots spot
I wag
Spot pets Pete spot
Dog and fag
Benjamin Cooper
I remember you, thought of you yesterday. RIP Kafka :(
Here are my two little guys. One is very sweet and easygoing but lazy, and the dumbest cat I've ever met. He doesn't know how to open doors, even when they're already cracked. If he gets a claw caught in something, he can't work himself free. Bouncy balls are too difficult for him, but he'll chase after a ball if you roll it in a straight line. Really, his favorite thing is just lazing around with people. He will try to herd people to bed at night so he can settle in with you and snuggle.
His brother is a much better hunter, even though he's half blind. He's always zooming around the house chirping and wanting to start a game of chase. When he gets tired out, he likes to play goalie - he just lays down in the middle of the floor and bats balls back at you when you toss them his way. He gets lonely if you don't spend a lot of time playing with him, like a dog would.
They live with my parents, though. Really wish I had pets at my place. The unconditional love you get from animals is so comforting and has helped me through tough times when dealing with people would have been too much.
Losing a pet is heartbreaking. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Cameron Brown
He's too pure for my shitty prose.
Colton Scott
It was 2008, I was still in high school, and he was more dog than we were prepared for.
A placid elderly Golden Retriever would have been more dog than we were prepared for. No one in the family had ever had a dog, and I'd had a rampant case of cynophobia since I was mauled by a loose dog on the school field, during gym class, when I was eight.
We had the pick of three puppies. Two sable boys, and one black and tan. The black and tan was the smallest. One of the sables was alert and lively and interacted with us. The other slept. We did not pick the one that slept, for fear it might be unwell. We did not pick the other sable. He was a little too rambunctious. Which left the little black and tan boy, who was the smallest of the remainder of the litter of nine, smaller than his sister, and we a ribby little thing when I picked him up.
He screamed the entire trip home in the car, all seventy minutes of it, even though I held him on my lap and tried to hush him. At least he wasn’t car sick. The book I’d read warned me that some puppies got car sick.
It’s unfair to say he was a bad dog. We were bad owners – not deliberately. It was more ignorance than anything.
He bit everyone. It didn’t matter so much when he was the size of a cat, the day we brought him home. It was more of a problem six months later, when he stood as tall as I did on when he reared up on his back legs and was strong enough to pull over a grown man if that man did not brace himself properly. We took him to a trainer. And then another one. They recommended neutering. He lost his balls. He was quiet for an afternoon after the surgery, and then he was back to biting and lunging and coming up the leash to maul his handler whenever he was a little bit frustrated.
I loved that dog, and hated him, in equal measure.
Once, when I was at school, someone asked me if things were all right at home. I didn’t understand the question. Why would I be having issues at home? They pointed out the bruises I had from wrist to shoulder on both arms, some fresh and dark and purple, others fading to shades of green and yellow, layered over each other. Awkwardly, I explained that things were fine, I just had a mouthy dog.
I started to think that most people’s dogs didn’t bite them nearly so much as mine bit me.
I doubted.
I knew we weren’t the right home for him. He was a terror, an untrained menace, a danger to family and stranger alike. We’d have to tied him outside just to have some time to ourselves, time when we weren’t having to fend him off, trying to avoid being bitten. When he did come inside, he did it with a muzzle on.
We’d shut him in the garage at night, so he couldn’t injure any of us while we slept.
And I knew if I gave him up, he would be euthanised. He wasn’t the sort of dog you rehome. Foisting him off on someone else would be both irresponsible and cruel.
I came to a decision.
Ethan Ortiz
I had a cat named Snowball. She died, she died.
Ryder Reed
Damn
RIP Kafka
that thread made me feel too much the other night OP God Bless
Brody Cox
Anyway, my decision shoulda been to put that asshole the fuck to sleep, but I didn't, and he turns 10 in June.
John Phillips
Oh man I can't believe it that freaking dumbass hamster that we had for like 6 weeks fucking bullshit it was Wilson nothing but some useless freaking for a ball that slowly got more more distrusting of us there's nothing to do in a situation like that you just sit back and you watches as something came and domesticated becomes wild and soon and soon you just have to let it out and he had to Let It Go free even those no better suited for the Wilderness than it was for the cage
Adrian Fisher
I have good pet stories and bad pet stories. I'll tell a good one.
A year ago yesterday actually, I moved to a new city. I was alone and in an unfamiliar environment. I barely got my lease on an apartment, I decided to celebrate. Before even unpacking, I was still sleeping on an air mattress, I went an bought a cheap bottle of Scotch. It was a warm February night so I decided to brown bag it and walk around the new city. I was at the point where I was having real troubles walking around without being noticably intoxicated so I made for home. About a block away from my new place, I can barely remember this part. A stray cat started following me for food. I was playing with it on a sidewalk and felt heart broken. It was deathly skinny, dirty and desperate. So drunkenly, I scooped up the cat in my arms, and to her protest of being held. Ran to my apartment. I tossed her in and stumbled my way to a 24hr drug store for some cat food. I don't even remember talking to the clerk, just remembered tripping in the aisle and having a very hard time finding the cat food.
I don't remember going home but woke up the next day with a cat and a hangover. I've had her ever since, named her Mocha and she's the fattest and happiest cat I know.