Gruesome and sweet, funny and dark, such are the stories to be told here.
I have a few stories in my repertoire, and thought of a few to start the archives with, but in my never ending quest for new strange stories, I found a deadly amusing one, one that shall be the introduction to the Conty Archives.
A couple of years ago, a friend of mine was looking after her neighbours’ house whilst they were on holiday. With the house came the old, lumpy family Labrador: too old to go on holiday and just about able to lift his head up from his munched old carpet.
One morning, my friend Amy went over to feed the dog and what had to happen happened: the dog had died. In her good self she called her neighbours and told them what had happened. The blame could not have been on her but they asked for a favour, could she get the dog cremated? "Of course" was the direct response. But once the phone was down and the panic calmed, she realized she did not have a car. An idea spread in her mind.
The vet was only two stations away by train, so she lifted the 35kg dead dog and put it in a big suitcase. She pulled it to the station as well as she could and waited on the platform. When the train arrived, she tried her best to carry the suitcase onto the train.
Seeing she was having some difficultly, a young lad ran to her rescue and they both loaded the suitcase on the train. Once on the train, they started chatting until the train arrived at Amy’s destination. The young lad politely offered his help once again, but this time, only to run off with the dead dog suitcase! Faith!
What happened to the dog? God knows. But Amy, incapable of telling her neighbours what happened to their beloved dog, burnt what she could, put it in an urn and then gave it to them. And that’s the end of this story.
- Conty. A
P.S. Next time you’re at a train station, please check for me that no suitcase has a fluffy tail coming out of it.
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