The day my dad's dog died.

I was sitting in my room playing with my dog, his name is Buster. My dog was being hyper while getting used to his new home.

My dad walks in and starts telling me about when he was my age and got a new dog.

( Insert sad music from the world's smallest violin here )

Dad: "When I was your age, my dad got me a pooch. His name was Rocket. I got him when he was around 4 years old, so he was pretty big. One day, I was working on my dad's truck and had a bucket of old gas sitting next to me. Rocket was outside playing around, being himself and came up to me. I slid back under the truck and heard some gulping sounds. I look over and see Rocket drinking big gulps of the gasoline. I screamed at him," Rocket No! You don't drink that!" Then he backed up, stumbling. I felt my heart sink to my stomach, I knew something was wrong with him. He took off running around the house. He ran around the house 2-3 times. Then he just fell over.."

Me: "Dead!?"

Dad: "Nah, he just ran out of gas."

Fuck off, Dad.

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📅︎ Mar 03 2015
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