A Bad Idea: Getting High While Handling Hyena Hybrid House Pets
WHY YOU SHOULD CARE
Because how often do you encounter hyena hybrids?
By David Hall
It was a classic “oh no, we’re out of the one thing we need to have a successful dinner” moment. My in-laws were over, and we were 10 minutes away from sitting down to eat. I drove to the grocery store on a peaceful late-summer London, Ontario, day.
As I was about to turn into the grocery store parking lot I heard barking. From out of nowhere, two massive, yellow-spotted dogs darted in front of my car as they ran across the street.
I pulled over and parked, got out and surveyed the situation. Traffic was at a standstill as the dogs — they looked like really tall pit bulls or exotic hounds — darted in and out of traffic, biting at cars, barking and generally acting like lunatics.
I’ve got a pretty good “come here” whistle from owning a dog myself, and both of the mutts’ ears perked up when I trilled at them.
Maybe not such a good idea.
The dogs — the owner had informed me they were part hyena — had knocked over the refrigerator.
Both massive dogs came barreling toward me. They stopped about a foot away and started barking fiercely and baring their teeth. I backed up a bit, which really set them off, so I took a few steps toward them, which calmed them slightly.
The bastards were just ever so slightly wagging their tails, so I knew they weren’t in full-on attack mode. I sat down on the grass and held out a hand, palm up. Bit by bit, both dogs approached me cautiously, sniffing my hand, then going full friendly apeshit. Traffic resumed.
I grabbed one of the dogs’ collar. There was a phone number engraved into its tag. I phoned.
“Hi,” I said. “I’ve got your dogs. They’re out loose running around. Where are you?”
I learned from the distraught owner of the dogs — named Baby and Princess — that she and her boyfriend were two hours away and wouldn’t be back until late. She gave me her address (hers was the lawn I was sitting on), informed me that the back door was unlocked and asked if I could please put the dogs in the house.
As I walked up the steps of the back porch, I saw how the dogs had escaped: A dog-size hole had been chewed through a screen in a floor-level window.
I stepped into the house, dogs in tow, and my jaw literally dropped.
On a dining room table set up in the corner sat a bong with a bag of weed. I ripped a huge hit and coughed my tits off.
These dogs — the owner had informed me they were part hyena — had knocked over the refrigerator. There was torn-up garbage and food everywhere. Blinds had been torn down; clothing and furniture torn to shreds. Tons of piss and shit on the floor too.
I walked into the living room and saw a massive translucent, electric-blue double-ended dildo on the floor. It had bite and chew marks all over it.
On the dining room table sat a bong with a bag of weed. I ripped a huge hit and coughed my tits off as the dogs nosed around.
That’s when my phone rang. It was the owner.
“Did you get in OK? Are the dogs OK?”
I informed her all was fine as my head started to buzz from the weed.
“Oh, before I forget,” she said. “Baby has a pet rat. Don’t go near her if she’s playing with it, she gets really mad.”
That’s when I saw the cage on a stand. In the cage was a white rat. Perhaps sensing my attention, Baby ran over to the cage and barked and stretched her front legs out on the floor, like she wanted to play. Princess caught wind of this and trotted over to check it out. Baby really must have been protective of that rat, because she turned on Princess and went off. Full-on dog fighting ensued.
Thoroughly high by now, all I could do was stare. That seemed to be the only move that did make sense.
Looking around, I noticed a few plywood boards stacked against a wall. I retrieved one and propped it up against the screen the dogs had chewed a hole through, hoping that would keep them inside.
I took one more bong rip and inopportunely had to piss. Finding the bathroom with the hyena hybrids watching me amid their fury-fueled bedlam? Fuck it. I pissed on the floor. I mean, when in Rome, right? Besides which, this was really the least of the owner’s problems. Then I left, making sure to lock the door behind me.
- David Hall, OZY Author Contact David Hall