I was talking with a member about our favorite pets on IM and it occurred to me that we need a pet stories thread. Seems like we have a lot of animal lovers here. I’m sure we would love to hear some stories about why your favorite pets meant/mean so much to you.

   I've told this story here before but it's been a while and many members weren't here then.  This is probably my favorite of many pet stories.  I was seven or eight.  My little sister and I were riding our bikes by the woods near the Pine Valley Golf Course.  A very tiny, very old lady walked out the golf course gate with two gigantic off leash German Shepherds.  These guys were the size of ponies. 
   Suddenly one of the Shepherds bolted toward me.  The old lady started cackling "Fritzy,  Fritzy," but Fritzy didn't give a rat's butt about her.  He just kept coming, his buddy following him.  I tried to pedal away but Fritzy started biting my foot so I couldn't get any speed up.  Even if I could have built up a head of steam that would still leave my sister Donna there.  Fritzy had a sadistic look in his eyes.  He was enjoying my terror.  He was the cat and I was the mouse.  There was no one around, no help anywhere, and I was screwed.  I knew that at best this was going to really hurt.  Maybe I would die.
      Out of the corner if my eye I caught a streak of movement coming out of the woods.  It was my fat mutt Poochie tearing ass like a torpedo straight toward Fritzy.  For a big girl Poochie could really move.   Poochie was in a righteous rage.  "Not my kids, assholes!"  Without  slowing down a step she  plowed into Fritzy with what could best be described as a Football cross body block, sending him sprawling.  Poochie didn't wait to find out what Fritzy's buddy's intentions were.  She  tore into him like a windmill in cyclone.  My last vision of Fritzy and his buddy was the two of them running for their lives with their tails between their legs back into Pine Valley with Poochie in hot pursuit. 
     There are moments in our lives that change us forever.  For me this was one.  From that day on I saw dogs in a different light.  Of her own free will Poochie risked her life to save Donna and I.  She was a real hero.  She was my hero.

Edit:  I found a picture of Poochie.  This would  be about five years after the incident described above.  That's my sister Donna in the picture with my nieces in the background.

    Kali, the Husky in my profile picture, was demented.  Brilliant, but demented.  We rescued her from the pound.  In the pound she was a well behaved little angel.  We had no idea what we were bringing home.  She had been feral for much of her two years of life and was very much like a totally wild wolf.  For the first eight months we had her we'd have to keep a leash on her in the house or she'd create total mayhem.  Three or four nights a week  I'd have to sleep the entire night in the car with her because that's the only place she'd settle down.  In the beginning I'd have to walk her five times a day sometimes starting as early as 4:30 AM.  Over time I was gradually able to reduce that to two long walks up to seven miles each a day.  But we'd have to walk no matter the weather.  In fact the more horrible the weather the happier she was. Anyone in their right mind would have taken her back to the pound.  Fortunately for Kali I wasn't in my right mind.  Eventually over a long time  we reached a compromise so that life with her became mostly tolerable but she was never completely tame. 
    I didn't realize just how intelligent she was until she started inventing elaborate practical jokes to play on me.  They were constant.  She lived to bust my stones. 
    One example; we were visiting some friends who also had a dog.  In the middle of the visit I had to walk Kali to do her business.  At that time Kali had a habit of picking up stones and swallowing them just to mess with me.  I'd have to take her to the vet for an x-ray, which was getting to be a very expensive joke.  Plus it was upsetting because she had swallowed trash and had needed an operation to save her life.  That's another long story. Anyway, we were walking along and Kali had her mouth wide open.  I could see there was nothing in it.  Suddenly she stopped and acted like she was picking up some found object from the ground.  I grabbed her to try and shake it out before she could swallow it.  To my surprise it was a rawhide strip she had taken from the other dog's stash.  She hid it in the back of her throat the whole time we were walking just so she could pretend to be picking up random trash to mess with me.  That might seem like just a coincidence but she was constantly doing things like that until the day she died. 
    Another time I was playing my Dobro.  I use metal  fingerpicks when I play.  I took my fingerpicks off and she picked them up.  I watched as she "hid" them in her stash pile in the middle of the Livingroom.  Cute.  I went into the kitchen to get something then returned to retrieve my fingerpicks to continue playing.  They weren't there.  In the short time I was in the kitchen she moved them to another hiding place.  She watched with delight as I tore her stash pile apart looking for the picks.  I searched the entire Livingroom, cursing her the whole time.  They were nowhere to be found.  No more Dobro playing until I could make it to the music store.  Kali won.  Three days later I found the picks in a neat little pile in the middle of the hallway. 
     That was life with Kali.  She lived to bust humans' stones, particularly mine.  It was a constant assault.  She left me with enough material where I could literally write a book about her.  The strangest thing is that as big a butt pain as she was, she's the one I miss the most. 
   Here's a very old video of Kali being Kali.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RjTXC9kJuw
   
Edit:  The white  Husky in the video is Odin.  He wasn't being abused in any way.  Odin was quite used to Kali's shenanigans and was very capable of defending himself.   Though they loved each other they were both very strong alphas and consequently had six real fights during their lives together.  Odin won five of them.  Size matters. 

   Good story, Joe.  Sometimes strays make the best pets.  Poochie, the dog in my first story, was a feral mutt who moved in on us.  Also two of my favorite cats, Kayla the beautiful Turkish Angora and Mister my fat black Halloween cat,  were strays that picked us.

   Both the leashes in my Kali and Odin video above were made by yours truly.  They are fashioned after the Rockman sling.  Basically they are a giant Rockman but with no retention cord.  The collar clip is on the end of the release cord and the pouch is the handle.  I made the first of these leashes as sort of a joke.  When I used it I really liked it.  Many years later Rockman leashes are the only kind I use. 

Poochie was the only feral dog I ever saw who was fat.  She didn't really need us. She was doing just fine on her own.  She just decided she was going to be our dog.  At the age of four she moved in on us. We fed her well but she never gave up her feral ways. She would eat rabbits, squirrels, cats, racoons, etc.. lots of them.  For some reason she always gave me the back half of her murdered cats.  "Gee, thanks, Poochie." She would also pick blueberries and huckleberries off the bush like a bear and she ate windfall apples.  She wasn't above raiding a trash can.  She was known as The Mayor of Pine Hill because she was present at every barbeque in town, begging what ever she could get.  She was an amazing, resourceful, brilliant animal.   Just as Kali's entire intellect was used to head **** me, Poochie was all about getting food. She was a genius when it came to feeding her face. 

After over 40 years and 9 dogs - yeah I've got a few stories.

I'll start with the latest.
Phoebe is my dog.
I picked her because of the seven near identical rescued pups at th dogstrust, she was the only one who had managed to remove her coloured identity collar.

The kennel lady reckoned it was the fastest puppy pick she'd ever seen.

Right from the start Phoebe was both lazy and exceptionally good at working things out.

The first day we left her alone she was about 8 weeks old.
She was in an enclosure with a lid held on with two crossed bungee cords pulled extremely tight.
When we got back phoebe was no longer in the enclosure and initially we could not see the bungee cords.
Turns out she'd bitten through them both.
After the first one had gone 'spang' you would have thought it would have put her off. Nope. Bit through the second and then pushed one half of the roof off and climbed out.
Picture shows bitten bungee cords and how we found the enclosure.
Phoebe is at the side of it.

6 years later.
She was at the vets for a 4 week checkup after having a cruciate ligament operation.
Because of covid I had to stay in the waiting room while the vet took her into the exam room and removed her stitches.

5 minutes later the exam room door opens and phoebe comes out and come over to me. Tail wagging and extremely pleased with herself.
A little later the door opens again and the vet comes out looking a bit non-plussed.

Turns out after he; taken the stitches out, he;d turned away to enter something into the computer, at which point phoebe presssed the door release pad to unlock the door and escaped !

On previous visits she'd clearly noted how the door opened and decided to let herself out.

She's also the only dog we've ever had who does not fart.
Not once, not ever. Not even after eating entire wild animals:  skin,fur, bones the lot.

Just does not fart.

Ruffy - our original italian spinone, used to run away from his farts.
He'd fart, look round in fright and run. Extremely funny

Not a story but my parent’s dog has 9 nipples.