Say Nothing posted:

Sel Nar posted:

So, I hate to be a downer, but I had to put down my border collie yesterday morning, after nearly 12 years of having the little fart ensure someone wakes up before 7 AM. If anyone would like to share photos of their dogs playing, I'd be quite grateful.

Sel Nar posted:

So, I hate to be a downer, but I had to put down my border collie yesterday morning, after nearly 12 years of having the little fart ensure someone wakes up before 7 AM. If anyone would like to share photos of their dogs playing, I'd be quite grateful.

Sel Nar posted:

So, I hate to be a downer, but I had to put down my border collie yesterday morning, after nearly 12 years of having the little fart ensure someone wakes up before 7 AM. If anyone would like to share photos of their dogs playing, I'd be quite grateful.

Jumpingmanjim posted:

Dusty the kangaroo is convinced he is a dog and loves life on the farm at Wittenoom Hills, near Esperance in Western Australia



Two-year-old Dusty the kangaroo is convinced he is a dog.

Ashley Stewart and his family farm at Wittenoom Hills, 60 kilometres north-east of Esperance, in Western Australia.

Mr Stewart rescued the joey after its mother was killed when hit by a car in a road accident.

"We weren't sure he would even survive but we fed him and of course he's just taken off from there," he said.

"He lives on the back patio. We've actually had to go and buy a third dog bed for him to sleep in because he used to pinch one of the beds from the dogs."

Mr Stewart said Lilly the golden retriever and Rosie the border collie loved their kangaroo.

"He thinks Lilly is his mum, he's always grooming her, they're always together and if Lilly goes out of the yard he pines for her and sort of hops up and down the fence until he's let out to go with her."

Mr Stewart said Dusty, the kangaroo, wore a collar like a dog.

"When he was little we let him out during the day and then we'd get him at night and lock him back up in the backyard and we couldn't find him because they don't make any noise and they just sit very still so I'd have to go out in the dark with a torch.

"So I got a collar and I put some reflective tape on it so it would shine out in the torch light and I could find him."

Say Nothing posted:

kinmik posted:

It's not new, but I saw this again and I can't help but just delight in the expression of unbridled glee on this kid's face.

Choco1980 posted:

I've said it before and I'll say it again, hockey players all seem to be the sweetest, goofiest guys off the ice.

Beardless posted:

Hockey players and wrestlers both seem to have the same kind of burly badass thing going on in the ring/on the ice, and then when they're out meeting fans they're the nicest people.

drrockso20 posted:

There's a biographical comic about Andre The Giant and it's full of touching little moments

Spoeank posted:

My favorite part is the grandpa reading it to the kid.

Spoeank posted:

My favorite part is the grandpa reading it to the kid.

VendaGoat posted:

You're very smart, shut up.

BattleMaster posted:

What are you even trying to convey with this post?

VendaGoat posted:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hssPVz33aDE
Jesus....

BattleMaster posted:

It has been a while since I saw the movie and I thought you were getting mad at him for the reference

kinmik posted:

drrockso20 posted:

There's a biographical comic about Andre The Giant and it's full of touching little moments

Sel Nar posted:

The picture's of my Dad, and my Dog back in 2005. I just figured I'd share a shot of the two kindest, wisest, and most-gentle beings I've ever known, and pass along some happy memories. (Of which one was taking that Photo; It was Kip's first experience with corn, and the poor pooch had no idea what to make of it, so he had been gallivanting up and down the rows for around 2 hours by that point)

Say Nothing posted:

mick ohio posted:

Just wanted to say I love this photo. Thank you for sharing your happy memories.

Sel Nar posted:

I'm glad to share them.

If I may step onto the soapbox, I'd like to tell you a bit about my dad.

Dad was born just after World War 2, and, within a month, was diagnosed with hemophilia (Factor VIII Variant), wherein his mother was told that it would be a miracle if he lived past the age of Four. The fact that I'm writing this speaks volumes to just how caring and enduring my grandparents and dad truly were, even if, in my dad's words, most of his life boiled down to 'three weeks in the hospital, one week out'.

He did have plenty of shenanigans as a child, however, such as having his pants leg nailed to the roof by his grandfather (kept him from climbing up and down the ladder), or being chased down a mountainside by said same grandfather, who had tucked a sawn-off pine tree under one arm, and was using it as a lance to poke my dad in the backside to teach my dad how to run without hurting himself. (Great-grandpa was shouting 'Faster Johnny, Faster!' to add to the hilarity of that mental image.)

There were also times where he was hurt, badly, by the actions of others; when he was eight years old, the school bully put him in an armbar and bonked dad's head against a drinking fountain. He got out of the hospital after 6 weeks, and never regained full function in his right elbow (which is why, in the image, his arm's crooked slightly)

So, dad spent most of his time reading, as he was practically bedridden in hospital; this was before recombinant factor VIII and IX had been developed, so when he had an internal bleed, the only way to stop it was through a whole plasma transfusion and ice. To be honest, he was very lucky that he never had a bleed into a vital organ, which is what killed most Hemophiliacs before the recombinant vials were developed.

The beard, by the by, was grown out shortly after a high-as-a-kite driver T-boned his Ford Falcon; the impact drove his chin through the steering wheel, and he ended up with a scar running from right nostril to halfway below his jawbone. The impact also hosed his left knee so badly that the kneecap had to be removed. Though, he pointed out that, with the kneecap gone, it was flat enough that he could place his coffee cup on the joint without it wobbling.

Dad loved farming. He could never do so professionally, because of the accumulation of joint damage over his lifetime, and he was rendered partially deaf because of unshielded PTO shaft whine (which, according to his doctor, was at the same pitch as my mom's voice), but, all the same, he loved being able to work the land and see the crops he had sown grow, and become new life. The picture shows that rather well; you can feel how proud he is of that corn crop being that tall. (For reference, my Dad was 5'10"; that corn is easily 9 feet tall, and was still growing when that picture was taken.)

He was an avid hunter, though he only shot two deer in around 30 years of active hunts. To him, it was mostly an excuse to sit in a tree, wrapped up in a heavy old coat, and let nature take its course around him, which he could appreciate. It was also the only way we could get rid of those godawful super-sticky halloween dark toffees, as he'd grab a handful as a shot of energy while he was waiting out on the hunt. And yes, he always cleaned up after himself once the day was done; no wrappers, no empty casings, etc.

It's also how he taught my brothers and I firearm safety; when I was four, he and I went out to the back field, where he used his Moose Gun (a .270 Remington bolt-action, chambered for magnum loads) to shoot a groundhog. We never did find all the pieces above the hind legs. When we got back to the house, while he was cleaning the rifle, he explained why we did that; so I could understand just how powerful guns were, and to never handle one without permission and proper supervision. I'm old enough to be my own supervision and permission, but I took his lessons to heart, and follow all the safety rules he drilled into my head.

He was probably the best teacher I could ever have, as he was not afraid to admit when he didn't know something, but he would take his own time and study up on a subject he didn't know about. He loved talking with experts in the field, and learning tricks of the trades, because, even if he could not do the work himself, he was insatiably curious, without ever giving the impression that he felt he was smarter than you. He also had a wickedly dry sense of humour, an infectious laugh, and would cheat to win silly competitions; my little brother tried to get into a staring competition with my Dad once, only to be defeated when dad barked at my brother, causing him to jump backwards. I drat near died laughing.

All of this was done while my dad was battling incredible pain. His anklebones had been so badly damaged that they had fused together; he could not 'roll' his feet to compensate for uneven terrain, so he was forced to take slow, almost-dragging steps and place his feet carefully. His left knee was so damaged that it had to be replaced with a prosthetic bone in 1988. Admittedly, the doctors expected the prosthesis to last for 5 years. It lasted 25 before a screw backed out slightly and started scraping the fibrous sheath between bone and calf muscle. Both elbows were also replaced, in 1997 and '98, respectively.

And, on top of that, the Red Cross blood scandal of the 80's ended up with him being infected with HIV and HCV. Being told he had 6 months to live did nothing to change his demeanour or outlook, and he turned 6 months into 24 years that I'm proud to say I got to spend with him.

My dad passed in 2009, due to complications from liver cancer. He had an incredibly tough life, but cherished every moment he had, made friends easily, and was remembered fondly by everyone around him. I miss him dearly, but I'm thankful I had so much time with him, as there were so many obstacles to even that short amount of time.

One of my favourite memories was going fishing with him, from Port Darlington, which has a large warm water outflow from the Pickering Nuclear Facility. The look on his face when I caught a 32-pound salmon that day is something I'll never be able to accurately put into words, but you could Feel how proud he was, not just because I snagged a fish that big, but because he was simply happy to spend time sharing something he loved with me, and saw that enjoyment reflected.

Apologies for the wall of text. I'm surprised I wrote this much, to be honest.

Edit: Another picture, shortly after his second elbow surgery.

BattleMaster posted:

cptn_dr posted:

Sel Nar posted:

Though, he pointed out that, with the kneecap gone, it was flat enough that he could place his coffee cup on the joint without it wobbling.

Bumblefuck! posted:

My sister just went back to visit Frankie

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xC3TNKebUXo

Turns out she's still a weird, noisy little gremlin