(My father and I are driving a motorhome down a deserted stretch of interstate highway, under the speed limit, at night. No other cars are visible at all, when all of a sudden a state trooper comes up behind us with his light on. We pull over and the officer gets out:)

Officer: “How are you folks, tonight?”

Father: “We are just fine.”

Officer: “What did you pull over and stop for?”

Father: “Where I’m from, at least, we are supposed to pull over for police cars with their lights on.”

(The trooper looks at his car and turns back to us, looking a little embarrassed.)

Officer: “I’m sorry. I was out making sure that no elk were on the interstate. The lights scare them off the road and I forgot they were on. Have a good night.”

My cat is generally a lovable cuddleball who has free reign of the house, but we have two rules for him: do not jump on the kitchen counter, and do not meow repeatedly and obnoxiously for the fancy canned food he gets every day at four — he has unlimited dry food — to try to get it early or more than once. We enforce these by squirting him with cool water. He’s a smart cat who understands the rules, and like all cats, hates being sprayed with water.

One day was extremely hot — about 110 degrees — and the air conditioner wasn’t working properly, so the inside of the house felt miserable. In addition, my cat seemed to be taking out his frustration by meowing as obnoxiously as possible, jumping on the counter right in front of us, and trying to nudge us toward where we keep the canned food. Obviously, we squirted him with the cool water.

When he started purring, we realized that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that we didn’t think the punishment through.

I work for a very small, in-state pet store chain. All of us employees are major animal lovers and have pet experience of some kind or another; it’s pretty much a requirement if you want to get a job there. We offer, among other things, nail clippings. Most of the animals we see come in are obviously loved and well-cared for, especially if their owners are regulars. However, that’s not always the case.

A customer came in with a year-old male rabbit of an unidentified breed for a nail clipping. Rabbits don’t come in too often, but things seem fairly normal. Things started to get weird — in hindsight, anyway — when the customer asked us for any vets in the area that took rabbits. Apparently, the rabbit hadn’t been eating for three months — later corrected to three weeks — and she felt that something was wrong. Oh, boy, she had no idea.

According to my coworker who clipped the rabbit, he yawned during the clipping, revealing some very overgrown incisors. How overgrown, you may ask? So overgrown that the lower teeth were starting to poke into the poor bunny’s nostrils. Worse, he had matted fur on his butt, consistent with sitting in a cage for long periods of time. Even worse than that, the nails themselves turned out to be nearly an inch long. And considering he hadn’t been eating for so long, it was a wonder that he was still alive and not emaciated. The rabbit was also a total sweetheart, further adding to the heartbreak.

To make matters worse, the customer left the store for nearly an hour. We practically ceased all operations looking for her and figuring out what to do with the rabbit, since, as time ticked by, we gave up hope of her ever coming back for it. Thankfully, the customer did come back; it turned out she just stopped by the dollar store nearby. Once we told her the condition of her rabbit, she was genuinely shocked, especially when we showed her his teeth. It turns out that not only was she not getting his teeth trimmed, but she only gave him paper towel tubes to chew on, because, “That’s what Google said,” hence the overgrown lower incisors. And yet she wondered why he wasn’t eating!

We finally managed to give her the address of the nearest 24-hour emergency vet clinic to get the rabbit some fluids and grind down his teeth. We also gave her tips on how to get rid of the mats safely and recommended getting the rabbit out of the cage more often. She thanked us deeply, paid for the clipping, and left with the rabbit in tow, hopefully to the vet. I sincerely hope the owner learned from this experience and will start taking better care of the sweet little thing, but at the same time just thinking about it still pisses me off. No matter how understanding the lady was, I will never get over how much she neglected that poor little rabbit.

Moral of the story? Some people really should not own pets, and those who do should do their research before getting it.

(I work in a farm supply and hardware store, and I’m used to customers asking for advice when building projects at home. I’m also used to them ignoring said advice and buying supplies that are woefully inadequate or insanely overkill. A young lady approaches me looking for chain to tie her dog outside. I escort her over to the bulk cable and chain area and go through options I think will best suit her application. Each one she declines, telling me the dog has broken through one already. Eventually, she points to one of the heaviest types we carry and says:)

Customer: “Do you have anything heavier than that one? He already broke one of those.”

(I grab a length of said chain and hold it up.)

Me: “He broke through one of these?”

Customer: “Yes, and only after only a few minutes!”

Me: “Well, I think you’ve got a problem, then, ma’am.”

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “This chain is rated for 9,000 pounds. It’s typically used for heavy equipment, logging, and towing. If your pet broke through one of these, I can assure you one thing: he’s not a dog!”

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Abuse

(The UK has been struggling with a heatwave. We’ve just finished a lunch rush and things are a little quieter. We just cleaning up the bar area while people finish up their food when my coworker and I hear the most awful, rasping panting from a dog entering the door. An older couple enter with their small dog, who is barely able to to walk in a straight line, and sit themselves down at a table. The woman approaches us.)

Woman: “Hi, are you still serving food?

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Would you like some water for your dog before you order? We want to make all of our guests to be comfortable.”

(I ask this because I’m increasingly concerned for the dog’s wellbeing — its panting is sounding significantly worse and it is drooling excessively for a small dog — but I don’t want to sound too nosey.)

Woman: “Oh, no, he’s fine. He’s just tired from our walk up [Popular Tourist Cliff Walk about 2.5 miles long]. We have some water, anyway.”

Me: “No problem, ma’am.”

(I take her order and serve their drinks quickly, watching the dog drink almost half a litre of water rapidly with no change in comfort. Just as I go to check on another table, the dog gets briefly to its feet to vomit violently, only to collapse into the vomit. I quickly try to keep my other customers, including children, calm while the dog’s owners seem oblivious to the severity of its condition, which is now clearly heatstroke.)

Woman: “Oh, dear, someone’s drank too quickly and is tired!” *to my coworker and myself* “Will you be dears and help us clean up?”

(My coworker goes to clean up the vomit while I swiftly go into the kitchen to explain the situation to my boss, who is also the chef.)

Me: “Hey, [Boss], I think we have a dog with heatstroke out there. Is there anything we can do? I’m willing to call [Friend of mine who is a veterinary nurse], if you’d like.”

Boss: “There’s not much we can do, [My Name]; it’s not our dog. Offer to call [Vet a few miles up the road] for them and try to get them to go there; otherwise, you just have to continue as normal. I’m sorry.”

(I go back out and do as I’ve been told to do, offering help as much as I can.)

Woman: “I’m sure he’s fine. We’ll consider it if he doesn’t improve by the time our food comes out.”

Me: “Okay, ma’am. No problem.”

(I try to continue with my other tasks while still watching for any change in the dog. A few minutes later, the food is ready and I take it out to them. The dog is still severely panting, and the owners have now taken the water away to stop him from vomiting it up again. I have to bite my tongue and say nothing, cleaning dirty glasses behind the bar so I can listen to them talking and be ready to do something if the dog ends up going into shock or a seizure.)

Woman: *to a concerned customer* “Oh, he didn’t make it to the top of [Cliff Walk], but luckily we had a deck chair with us and we used that as a stretcher to carry him there! It was beautiful up there, you know? The sun and the heat was warming up all of our old bones wonderfully! There weren’t any other dogs, either, so we had most of the cliff to ourselves! It really was fantastic.”

(The couple left with their dog after an agonisingly long time eating their food, with all of us encouraging them to go to the vet again before they left. Several hours later when my shift ended, I went to the vets to pick up some wormers for my own pets only to find out the couple hadn’t come in. It wasn’t until the next morning my friend texted me to let me know they ended up coming in during the night. They had found the dog unresponsive in its own vomit again shortly after coming back to their caravan after visiting friends. The poor little thing died of heatstroke less than an hour later. I can’t help wishing I could have done more, and that the owners had not been so stupid as to take their dog for a walk in that heat.)