Back when I was working as a scaffolder (2:2 degree in Economics from the West Midlands premier polytechnic still not working out) I stumbled home one Friday afternoon having partaken of one too many pints of mild. It was autumn and piles of leaves were all down the road, one particular pile just outside my door seemed to be moving.
Initially I thought it was an acid flashback, however having never actually taken acid I considered it unlikely and indeed a closer look revealed a yorkie sized dog buried in the pile of leaves. I took it home brought a tin of Chappie from the local corner shop (later realised that Chappie although cheap, was basically a laxative) then later took it for a stroll on a piece of string to the local cop shop. Having been informed that if I left the dog and it was not claimed within a certain time period it would be put down I left my details and took it home.
She hadnt been house trained although she would at least get off your lap before squatting on the carpet in front of you, and half the side of her fur was short like a piglet the other half long and straggly. Fortunately I had some clippers so did a number 2 all over.
Some months later I was stopped on the street by a lady asking where I got this Norfolk Terrier, I told her I had thought it was a mutt and had found her. She told me that her father was a breeder and had lost a female some months ago. I asked for the address thinking that although I had grown attatched to her I had no wish to keep what could be a treasured pet.
Alarm bells rang when the address was on the route of our nightly walk and she had never shown any desire to approach the house. I knocked on the door a man answered I explained the situation and he thanked me for returning his dog. I in turn told him to kiss my arse as I had reported the dog to the police and RSPCA and he had failed to claim it. He invited me in to discuss the matter and it turned out he was breeding the dogs in a spare room. Puppies were in the room, neglected eating from food spilled all over the carpet and generally having a shit where they fancied. During the conversation the dog sat on my lap and showed absolutely no affection to him at all.
After a bit of debate and threats of court action I made it pretty clear that he was not having the dog back. I asked him about the dog, he said she was 6 and that due to a blocked milk gland he could not breed from her but had kept her as he couldn't sell her on. He gave me some advice on stripping her hair (you pulled it out in tufts) and explained that she suffered from phantom pregnancies that meant after she came off heat she would retire somewhere and build a nest which she would protect with aggression. This would last a week and then all would be well.
About a month later she went on heat, and my god was she horny. She would spend the majority of her day sitting on me and rubbing back and forth on my thigh leaving a snail trail. Nights were spent listening to her panting away dry humping a pile of washing.
One morning she was no where to be seen. Her water bowl had dissapeared along with her bedding and a load of dried biscuits. I found her in the cupboard under the stairs surrounded by her bedding and food looking as cute as can be. I reached in to pat her head only for her to snarl and bare her teeth like the Doberman's from the Omen.
And that's when I saw it. She had decided that my girlfriends rubber dildo was her baby and was sitting on it in a position that looked like she was some well hung man/dog hybrid.
It was both the funniest yet at the same the most poignantly sad thing I had ever seen.
Even now some 12 years since she passed the memory makes me smile and still brings a tear to my eye.