Dog Talking Buttons

... the Rehoming Centre for a dog, but after a few mishaps ... Clarry Clumduck was a walking, talking, tie‑straightening hazard zone. Not ... bus tickets caught in your buttons. Hold still.” She produced a ...

... the control sticks and shoulder buttons on your controller to painstakingly... named Cassie - developer Naughty Dog never gave him a son... as subtle as a humanoid talking donkey with no pants. Compare... that neither Sony nor Naughty Dog is going to canonize this...

... show the pair how the buttons worked. It was the lobby... bike pass by with a dog on a leash leading the ... coffee to keep them awake. Talking about that, got a spare ...

... show the pair how the buttons worked. It was the lobby... bike pass by with a dog on a leash leading the ... coffee to keep them awake. Talking about that, got a spare ...

... asked, turning up her puppy dog eyes to the maximum. Sam... tables and playing around with buttons on said tables, there to... she knew what she was talking about while seemingly also confused... guy holding a poodle-like dog for a diamond-encrusted designer dog collar. When the... up from where he was talking with other people. "That was ...

... asked, turning up her puppy dog eyes to the maximum. Sam... tables and playing around with buttons on said tables, there to... she knew what she was talking about while seemingly also confused... guy holding a poodle-like dog for a diamond-encrusted designer dog collar. When the... up from where he was talking with other people. "That was ...

It’s actually my youngest son’s cat who learned to use the buttons. I inherited the cat after my son lost control of his car on the icy roads last winter. It happened on the day he received a scholarship to his top college choice. He and his boyfriend were feeling on top of the world and were on their way back home from a trip… His boyfriend survived. He did not. You cannot imagine the grief. Either you have experienced the loss of a child, or you haven’t. I did not weep—not at the funeral nor for many weeks after. I became a stone, an object. It was as if all the sorrow were locked far from reach. Instead of feeling anything, I simply thought many times of retrieving the pistol that I own from its case in the back of my closet. And on a few occasions, I even went and took it and sat with it, feeling its weight in my hand… My son Vinh—Vinny to his friends—was my world. One day he would have been famous, I am sure of it. You may think that is a father’s pride talking. Maybe it is. But he had a music scholarship. He would have performed for presidents and world leaders. In my mind, when I see him, it is usually at his piano… playing for his cat. When he was 15, I promised him a kitten if he did well in school, and he picked out this tabby—the tiniest and angriest tabby in the world—and named her Terri. She loved only him, and hissed and growled at anyone else who came near, including me. She also peed on his clothes, and on mine, and on my bed. To say I wanted to get rid of Terrible Terri (as I called her) is an understatement. But then my brilliant son died. And suddenly it was just me and Terrible Terri and the gun. I felt nothing but resentment toward the cat. But… she spent hours and hours slouched on the windowsill in his bedroom where she always sat while he played piano. I used to think she sat there to watch the birds and couldn’t care less about his playing. Now, she didn’t even lift her head. She just loafed on the sill, as if waiting for him to come bursting in and pull the dust cover off and play. And there were the buttons. You’ve seen them, I’m sure. Those gimmicky buttons that people get to train animals to “talk.” Bunch of nonsense if you ask me. What has a dog got to say? Nothing but “food,” probably. And anyway people are supposed to give commands to dogs, not the other way round. But Vinny would watch all these videos of dogs and sometimes cats pressing the buttons—even though to be honest the cat videos he showed me looked like the cats walking onto the buttons completely by accident. And that’s what I told him. Complete waste of money. People wishfully projecting their ideas onto their pets. The cat pressed “love you” and meant it? Hah! Cats only know hunger and selfish desires. Well, my stubborn, dreamy-eyed, cat-loving son bought a set of those buttons. He pre-recorded dozens of them, but began with just a handful: FOOD, CUDDLE, OUTSIDE, MUSIC, DAD, and VINNY. Yes, he put me and himself as buttons, and MUSIC, too, because he was convinced in his silly teenaged way that the cat liked his music and might want to request it. Terri was terrified of those buttons. No matter how he tried to train her, she refused to use them. She hissed. She swatted. She wouldn’t go near them. She knew exactly what they were for, I’m sure of it. She even knew the words, because he’d say to her, “Let’s have some music,” and she would go to her perch by the piano and wait for him. But when it came to the buttons she refused. Terri loved those buttons about as much as I loved Terri. But then, like I said, came the accident. Suddenly my son was gone. The house felt wrong. Empty. Terri was a husk. I put food out but she didn’t eat. I didn’t know how to read her signals. She hissed at me if I came near. I decided I should get rid of her. I couldn’t keep his cat. The cat hated me anyway. I will get rid of her, I thought, and then I will be done with me, too. But I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of my son’s cat. And I couldn’t shoot myself while the cat was still alive. And so we were stuck, me and the cat. And then one night, I was up in my room contemplating the gun when I heard the recorded voice, downstairs, speak: VINNY. I assumed it must be a mistake. She must have walked over the button. But then it came again. VINNY. VINNY. VINNY. I stood there, listening to that cat press VINNY over and over, and tears came into my eyes. It was like a key turning in a lock. A crack in the dam that then finally burst. I gasped. Loud, gulping sobs. Finally, the tears came for my son. And when the flood was over I came down and found tiny Terri sitting by the buttons, looking miserable, and I scooped her up and told her, “I miss him, too.” And for once, she didn’t swat me. She gave only the smallest growl. I put her down and got her some food. Got myself some, too. We both ate. That was the beginning. Since then, I’ve added more buttons. You see, I’m not an animal person. I didn’t understand Terri’s body language, her wants and needs, without the buttons. She finally started using them, training me (I guess they say cats do that). She has a WET FOOD button. A KIBBLE button. She has a NO button to use if I show her the wrong food. I also added from my son’s collection the LOVE YOU button (yes, I confess, I did add it), and a TERRI button. And I began to make a habit of pressing, LOVE YOU VINNY and LOVE YOU TERRI. I was genuinely in shock how much she communicated. The first time she pressed DAD LOVE YOU I almost broke down all over. I couldn’t believe it. She looked like she wasn’t even trying. She just casually walked over the buttons. But it was deliberate. It happened more than once. I still hadn’t learned to read her cat body language at all. But with the buttons, I understood her. And I felt like I had a part of my son with me. Sometimes she said things that just cracked open my soul. Like when she looked at me with those big round eyes one time and hit, VINNY HOME. “I wish he was home, too,” I told her. It was uncanny, the things we could discuss. We’d have entire conversations. I know it sounds nuts. I’d have thought myself nuts just a couple of months before. But I added buttons so fast, and she took to all of them. I asked her once if she understood what happened to Vinny. She replied with VINNY BYE-BYE (I’d added the BYE-BYE button to tell her whenever I was leaving the house). Then she asked me VINNY HOME. I had to tell her no, VINNY BYE-BYE. And she stubbornly insisted again VINNY HOME, and she walked away angry (I think) that I couldn’t make Vinny come back. But the reason I’m sharing this story… and sharing this story here… is because of what happened last week. Last week, my son Liem came to see me. Liem is Vinh’s older half-brother. He’s nearly a decade older than Vinh, from a previous relationship, and unfortunately, Liem inherited all of his mother’s worst traits. It is always the same with him. He begs for money, gets abusive if I do not give it, and disappears once I have made him a loan he will never repay. I cut off all funds to him a few years ago and told him I would no longer enable his habits. While I’d never cut him entirely out of my life, I hadn’t allowed him to visit when Vinny was alive because of the way he’d treated Vinny on a previous visit, when he’d sneeringly accused me of “favoring that mincing little…” I won’t repeat his hateful words for his younger brother. When he showed up on my doorstep, he had the smell of whisky on his breath, and he looked wild-eyed and anxious. “Dad,” he said, and then hugged me tight. “I’m sorry about Vinh.” It shocked me so much, I hugged him right back, and he came in and sat down and asked how I was doing. He was surprisingly solicitous. I didn’t understand why. His usual meanness didn’t come through at all until he noticed a growling Terri. “You still have that little piss queen?” he asked, and reached a hand for her—only for her to swat and run away. “Little shit,” he said. “Her name is Terri,” I said defensively. He laughed. “Didn’t you used to call her Terrible Terri?” “She doesn’t pee on things anymore.” From the button area came presses of BYE BYE. “She wants you to go bye-bye,” I said. “She can fuck off. She’s not your son. I am.” BYE-BYE. I didn’t like the way he talked to the cat. Though a few minutes later, after she peed on his shoes, I found his anger more understandable. And I locked her up to prevent him from harming her. But he seemed genuinely sad about Vinny, and even asked about Vinny’s boyfriend and his recovery after the crash. I wondered if he had come over to try to patch things up between us. Maybe to start off on better footing. Like me and Terri had. Until he asked me what was going to happen to Vinny’s college fund. “I haven’t decided yet,” I told him. “I’m still processing all of this…” “But like, he’s not gonna use it. Right? I mean, even before the accident. The money you’d been saving for him… he had a scholarship, right? He wasn’t gonna need it. And he definitely won’t need it now. Dad, I could use a loan.” “Liem.” “You still have one son left, Dad!” he burst, and there was the old rage. “Why do you always treat me like this? Even when he’s dead, he still deserves more than I do! I bet you cut me out of your will, too, huh?” “I did not.” “You didn’t?” “No. You both get equal shares.” “Oh. OK. OK.” He calmed down. “Sorry. I just… I have a lot of resentment, I guess. I’m sorry. But about the loan. Is there any way—” “I will have to think on it.” “Ok. OK. You think, I’ll make us drinks, OK?” I should have known what was happening when he went into the kitchen and was fumbling around longer than necessary. I should have known, but how could I? I had already lost one son. How could I suspect the other? How could I imagine the worst? I wanted to believe things would be better. I drank the alcohol he put in front of me without thinking. I assumed the wooziness was just the booze. It had been a long time since I’d had a real drink. Somewhere, in the bedroom where she was locked up, Terri was howling. Howling her little heart out. I’d never heard her make those sounds and said I was going to let her out but when I got up, the whole world lurched. Liem’s arms caught me and he said, “Got you, Dad,” and then kept whispering in my ear, his breath still reeking, “Sorry, sorry, but you’re making me do this… if you’d just give me that fuckin’ loan…” I didn’t start to panic, really panic, until he propped me up on the sofa and went upstairs with the question: “You still keep your gun in the closet?” The fear hit me in a wave then. I felt like I was floating. Like I was drifting away from my body. Like I was lost in some strange and horrible dream. I tried to stand, to stumble to the table and grab my phone, but I fell and heard the crack of my head against the table’s edge. The ground came up to meet me. Pain shot through my skull. Footsteps thudded overhead. Cursing as he rifled through my closet. I tried to pull myself up again. Finally managed to grab my phone. The screen swam in my vision. My fingers were fat and clumsy as I tried to push the keys to call for help— A hand smacked the phone out of my grip. “It’s ‘cause you won’t help me,” Liem rambled as he again wrapped his arms around me to try to get me onto the sofa. “Everyone knows you’re depressed. Suicidal. Can’t handle Vinny’s death. You should’ve just done it, man. If you’d just done it I wouldn’t have to.” “Pluhhh,” I gasped. “This is the only way. This is how it was gonna be anyway. You don’t even wanna live anyway. In your own way, you’re helping me out here in the end,” he said. And then, in response to the howling from the other room, he suddenly shrieked, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” The howling stopped. Liem glared toward the door, his breaths coming hard and fast. Then looked back at me. Everything had become so blurry, his words were a garble, his features a haze. I felt the cold muzzle of the gun against my temple as my heart galloped in my chest… From Vinny’s room came a sharp rustle, like a curtain or a sheet. And then the piano—the notes of a piano. “The hell?” Liem’s voice slurred through my drugged haze. “Is someone here?” The playing continued—unsteady, but beautiful. Unmistakably Clair de Lune. Just like Vinny had always played. But slower. Halting. And I wondered—it couldn’t be the cat, could it? It almost sounded like the cat walking deliberately across the keys, the same way she walked across the buttons. But that would've been impossible. “WHO’S THERE?” snarled Liem. “V-vih,” was all I could manage. He snatched up the gun and stalked toward the bedroom door. In my blurry vision, he wavered, back and forth. And when he opened the door… there, at the piano, was a figure, flickering and impossible. A figure that both was and was not there, and Liem screamed and raised his arm and the world exploded as the gun went off. And then there was the yowling of the cat. And the cat came charging out, all bristling like a tiger, and with her that same figure from the piano, and Liem was screaming in terror and fired the gun again and ran out the door… … What I remember next is waking in the ER. Neighbors apparently called police after hearing the gunshots. When I was discharged and returned home, my head wrapped from the concussion, I was relieved to find Terri whole and unharmed. She hurried over to greet me, tail up—I’d finally started picking up her body language to know a greeting when I saw it. But it wasn’t just the tabby greeting me, I knew. You see, I’d finally realized something. A cat can’t play a piano. And this cat couldn’t use buttons. Not of her own volition. Maybe it hadn’t been Terri talking to me all along. Maybe it was, and always had been, Vinny. And so as I extended my hand and Terri rubbed my knuckles, I told her, “I love you. I won’t ever hurt myself. I promise, I will survive. You can be free. I love you.” Terri rubbed my hand again. And again. And rubbed my face when I bent my head to hers. Then she padded over to the buttons and walked across them, and I listened to my son’s recorded voice: LOVE YOU. LOVE YOU. BYE-BYE. Terri hasn’t touched those buttons since. But… every once in awhile, when I’m very deep in dreams, I think I hear the sound of the piano… submitted by /u/lets-split-up to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

Not the most drama, but fun and low stakes. Just a grumble. Advice, sympathy, whatever welcome. New neighbor moved in and wants me to contain my free range chickens. I moved to a very remote cottage in 2014. The only 'neighbors' were weekenders and the folks across the street actively enjoyed when my chickens came to browse their yard. The older lady loved feeding them, and the guy didn't care as they were only down a few times a year. Six months ago a 70 year old woman bought the cabin and moved in full time. It's a rough area and she's been adjusting to a lot... bad roads, her dogs met a porcupine, regular power interruptions, etc. Now she insists I keep my hens off her property because her dogs bark at them through the fence she put up. I guess I can't argue (please let me know if you think I should). It's going to take me a few weeks to save up the money to build a run, but I've had free range hens for 12 years. In addition to the fence, my feed bill will now increase. I'm sure she isn't going to make it out here, so would rather just wait her out until she moves, but in the meantime... grumble grumble grumble. Edit... ya'll, I'm putting up the fence. I can't imagine no one else has had the experience of a new neighbor changing things in a way you'd rather it not change. Pardon me for thinking I'd find understanding and companionship in my adjustment. Yeesh. Edit 2. I am grateful for the DMs and comments showing empathy and compassion. The rest of you, good luck. I am newish to reddit and will be showing myself out based on my experience here. I'll leave this up and maybe - just maybe - some of you will revisit your comments and undertake some self reflection on your proclivity to assume the worst and join in on a dog pile when someone is looking to share feelings about a difficult situation. May others treat you better than you've treated me. Good bye. Edit3, just because why not... again, thanks for the continued DMs and positive comments to those who possess the ability to think independent of the mob. Sorry, I didn't provide a lot of context because the other stories I could tell about her choices and her knowledge of what she was getting into would be too many. She hasn't quite been a nuisance (although she did knock on my door with a flashlight at 3am one morning to ask me to help her deal with porcupine quills in her dog's mouth.... uh, no, go to the emergency vet) and hasn't quite been unfriendly (although she has avoided all the invitations I've given her to get to know one another over tea) and hasn't made too many changes that effect me (except for the big bright led flood light that now shines in my front windows when she lets the dogs out at 2am and refusing to NOT burn her garbage) but I have real concerns over how well she thought through buying this place sight-unseen (again at the dead end of a seasonal northeastern forest road). I could also have told you all how I moved out here years ago for quiet and solitude after experiencing some heavy shit during military service that deeply impacted me, and how the loss of my solitude was actually quite a shift for me. Sure, I could have provided the context above and acknowledged how that made the very reasonable request she made just one more thing to deal with, but I was trying to be generous to her and measured in my complaints by not piling on all the various ways I am keeping my calm amidst these changes and just focusing on how much my girls are going to now have to be penned up when I love them and enjoy watching them dustbathe and browse and feed in freedom. I really want to be good neighbors with her and have adjusted quite a bit to her being here. I also love my hens and the loss of their freedom on top of the other adjustments I've made was just a bit much in the moment it happened. I have an order with Premier1 already placed and am doing the deed, as I was always going to do. The issue was frustration and sadness, not annoyance or entitlement. So yeah. when I came here looking for sympathy I could have explained all of this, but I'm trying NOT to dwell on the whole, even though that would have provided more context for my feelings. As you can see, OP had a very strong reaction to the comments they received on their post. Here are a few examples of comments they directly responded to: You should not argue. You should apologize. And you should have always kept your chickens confined to your yard. I’m kind of flabbergasted that you thought otherwise. [OP] I've been here - at the end of a long dirt road - twelve years by myself. It's never been an issue and I'm accommodating her, albeit begrudgingly. Save the righteousness for someone who won't accomodate reasonable requests. Its not an "accommodation"...you just stopped using someone else's land for free. "Reasonable" would have been you always keeping your livestock, on your own land, and not taking advantage of other land owners, likely without their knowledge. This level of entitlement is wild. I feel sorry for your neighbor, frankly. Not because of the chickens but because of your attitude. [OP] Yo for real. Yall are over reading so much here. I've been doing more for this lady than I want to because I want to help her out. I'm shocked at you all. I’m not really sure what you’re expecting I guess. You came here to present the situation to your peers, your peers have overwhelmingly said the neighbor is being reasonable, and now you’re acting like your peers are also being unreasonable. There is a common denominator here and it’s your attitude. [OP] I have not resisted a single good, positive suggestion, nor have I argued against building the fence. My shock is at the character inferences and projections that I'm feeling directed towards me from (I assume) neighbors who don't accommodate or care. OH FOR PETE’s SAKE!!! Wow, there really are some judgmental characters on here! I COMPLETELY understood OP was saying things had changed, OP didn’t particularly like it, but knew- being a good neighbor- meant OP had to accommodate the new neighbor’s request. OP did ask if there were any arguments in OP’s favor, what the hell is wrong with that??? GEEZUZ, the “how dare you” self righteous crap is beyond rude! OP states the new neighbor put up a fence separating the property, but the new neighbor’s dogs bark at the chickens on the other side of the fence, & unfortunately, the chickens may not have the good sense to stay away from the dogs’ side. If the fence the new neighbor installed keeps the dogs on her side of the property, but is TOO open to keep the chickens on OP’s side of the property, then, YES, it is OP’s responsibility to add fencing the chickens cannot cross/escape. BUT, a new neighbor whose dogs are barking or aggressively charging the fencing- is the new neighbor’s responsibility to train & control their dogs- THEY ARE THE NEW ELEMENT ONTO THE SCENE, & the chickens are allowed by code to be where they are, AND were, before the new neighbor arrived on the scene (think LEGAL PRECEDENT). YES-OP needs to add better fencing, blocking shrubs, to care & protect OP’s chickens from harm, but the new neighbor also has a responsibility to control the dogs- a species KNOWN for digging escape routes, especially when they see something they want to subdue or catch. OP, I’m sorry for the rude treatment received here, I hate to use this term, but- a bunch of “karens”, on display, for the most part!!! PS: I’ve learned to block the @$$holes whenever I see rude behavior from the get-go! There's a legal precedent for letting chickens roam on your land if they were there first? Also while it would be nice for a neighbor to train their dogs not to charge the fence or bark, they don't need to. The neighbor has done what is necessary and built a fence to contain their animals. Now OP should do the same for his chickens. Did you by any chance READ where I stated OP would need to add additional fencing to keep the chickens from crossing over? Did you by any chance READ where I stated OP should consider adding shrubs to further block the dogs from viewing the chickens? For pete’s sake🤦🏼‍♀️ OP: you can have a friendly neighbor or an antagonized neighbor. Maybe she’d havea better chance of “making it out here” if you were nicer to her. Like, sorry about the chickens, here’s a dozen eggs. If you want more Range for the chickens, build a tractor and roll it around in your own yard. [OP] Oh I've been helping her as much as I feel comfortable doing so. I remember my first year here and the adjustment it took. She regularly ignores the gentle advice I give until it's too late, then takes it. And I'm building the fence. I'm just grumpy about the change. I am seriously shocked at these responses. The assumptions about how I approach my neighborly relations are so far off the mark. Maybe I don't know what yall have experienced and are projecting on to me, but damn.... If you've had neighbors that bad I'm sorry for ya. I mean, your initial post kinda asked if you should "argue with her about it", and property disputes are those kinds of things people get really f'n testy over. This back and forth doesn't involve the OP, but I got a chuckle out of it and it ends in a decent flair: Keeping your livestock on your property seems like a very reasonable request. This comment was deleted, but from context clues I assume it was something along the lines of recommending the neighbor let her dog kill OP's chickens. So while i think theres a time and place for sending the dogs so to speak, i do think thats an unreasonable escalation from not saying a word. Probably so. It’s very frustrating to work so hard on your yard though and have sometimes irresponsibility destroy it. I have personally tried chasing them off with water hoses. That does nothing. Crazy concept, but have you considered actually talking to your neighbor? Just speak with the chickens THIS DRAMA IS OVER A DAY OLD AND IT WILL BE EXTREMELY OBVIOUS IF YOU PISS IN THE POPCORN. PLEASE DON'T. submitted by /u/W473R to r/SubredditDrama [link] [comments]

My dog, Cookie, is a high-energy papillon-mix with big furry ears and tufts of long fur, and when I first adopted her I almost returned her because for the first three days she wouldn’t stop crying. Now, of course, she is my baby. One thing that helped a lot with her energy levels and her constant boredom was the buttons. I’m sure you’ve seen them—those buttons you record with your voice that dogs can press to say things like FOOD or PLAY or OUTSIDE. Some people even train their cats with them. Cookie is up to twenty buttons. Sometimes she’ll hit nonsense sequences, of course. And she seems to think OUCH is a reaction to surprise. Also, I’m not sure if she grasps the emotions MAD, SAD, and LOVE YOU. Though on days when I’m curled up on my sofa crying from the stress at work and she hits LOVE YOU of course I want to believe she knows what it means (even if she doesn’t, it still makes me feel better). But even though she’s imperfect in “talking” with her paws, Cookie is well-trained and intentional, at least with her most tangible wants like OUTSIDE and FOOD. Though I’ll admit it's annoying to be woken in the middle of the night with demands for FOOD, FOOD, FOOD. Anyway. One night, I was woken up by the sound of my recorded voice from the living room: STRANGER. This was followed by the pattering of Cookie’s little paws, followed by: STRANGER. OUTSIDE. I admit, my heart skipped a beat. I lay in bed huddled under the blankets, reluctant to get up and investigate. For a long while, holding my breath, I lay there in silence. I listened to the dog’s footsteps meander around in the main room. Finally she pressed FOOD a few times before coming back into the bedroom and curling up in her bed by the nightstand. In the morning I checked around outside the house, but found no traces of anything unusual. I also did a Google search and laughed when I realized how many people have been spooked by their pets pressing STRANGER. I also creeped myself out with a story in The Daily Mirror of a woman whose dog pressed COLD STRANGER. According to the article, the woman was spooked by her dog’s warnings of this “cold stranger” in the corner of her living room. But in my case, Cookie wasn’t warning me of any ghosts. One morning she hit STRANGER before running to the door and growling. This was a correct usage of the button, as a UPS driver was outside. When the doorbell rang, she actually barked (something she rarely does). Her hackles raised, tail down and ears flat. I had to apologize to the driver as I accepted the package and Cookie kept rumbling, low and deep in her throat. I told her “go away” and she skulked off. Behind me somewhere, I heard the button for STRANGER again. “Sorry,” I told the driver, who was laughing. “She doesn’t like strange men.” “She sounds smart, then. Do those buttons actually work?” He was intrigued. OUTSIDE. “Yeah, she seems to know them pretty well, so.” FOOD. MAD. “Sometimes she presses them kinda randomly, too,” I admitted. “Ok, well, she sounds mad and like she wants food. Have a good day.” I don’t know what Cookie’s history was before being adopted. But she’s always been leery of men. At least until they’ve bribed her with her favorite thing, food. In any case, later that afternoon she pressed STRANGER again and when I looked outside, there was a turkey in our front yard. That’s when it struck me—the other night, Cookie must’ve seen a raccoon or some other animal that was a “stranger” to her. But then came the incident that made me rethink everything. I’d just come back from a visit with my parents, and as soon as Cookie and I walked in, her hackles raised. I was unloading bags when I heard: STRANGER. HOME. This sent a crawl of icy fingers up my spine. Cookie wasn’t growling or barking, but she was unusually alert. “Stranger where?” I asked. When Cookie just looked at me, I repeated myself. She looked around the room, and then she trotted off to wander through the kitchen, came back out and went down the hall to the bedroom. Came back to me and wandered over to the buttons. SMELL. God, the chills I felt then. Did this mean there was a lingering smell of some stranger? Could it have been a strange animal? A squirrel that got in through the window maybe? Or the smell of something I brought in from outside? I went walking around the house. No signs of forced entry, though I do keep a key under a flowerpot that anyone with half a brain and determination to break in could probably find. It’s a safe neighborhood, so I hadn’t thought much of it. Now, though, I removed the key and decided I’d get a lockbox for the front door instead. After I found a footprint in the damp soil below the window, I also decided to install cameras. Cookie, meanwhile, had calmed down and when I came back inside I found her camped beside the FOOD button. But the real reason I swear by these buttons and how beneficial they can be is because of what happened the next week. I was out doing some gardening and heard my name called by Greg—my supervisor at work. He was out jogging, and we struck up a conversation. He asked if he could have some water and I let him in for a drink, and as usual Cookie was growling, tail tucked and ears back just like with the delivery driver. I told her to “go away” and she backed off, though wouldn’t stop giving Greg the stink-eye. He had made himself at home in the armchair by the TV area and was remarking on what a nice place I have and asking, “Is it just you here?” when I heard my recorded voice from the living room: STRANGER. SMELL. Now, the fact Greg had appeared on my street, casually jogging up the sidewalk—well, it had sent up some red flags. He’d always been a little creepy as a supervisor. Not enough to go to bring a complaint forward or anything, but enough that I felt awkward about seeing him on my street. So when Cookie pressed the buttons saying she smelled a stranger—it sent my pulse racing. Could this be the same stranger she smelled on the day I found the footprint outside the window? I told Greg I had to take her out for a quick potty break, and while outside I phoned a friend and asked them to pretend it was an emergency. I came back in with my friend shouting loudly enough on my phone for Greg to overhear, and I told him something had come up and I had to run. We both went outside and I locked up and got in my car and waited until he was gone before I went back inside my house. I checked the cameras, wondering if I'd find evidence of him snooping around my house. But there was nothing. I assumed that my fears had been overblown. That maybe I had freaked out at Greg unfairly, and Cookie had pressed those buttons because she didn’t like men. But two days later—the cameras caught him. On a Saturday afternoon when my car was gone and I was obviously not home, Greg came strolling up my sidewalk. He looked around, seemingly trying to act casual, and then he went right to the potted plant, which he lifted, searching for the key. I felt nauseated watching the footage. And glad I had trusted my gut (and Cookie's warnings) about the bad vibes I was getting from him. I arranged to have the locks changed and a security system installed, and informed my neighbors to be on the lookout. I did some extra button practice with Cookie to make sure she'd alert me if necessary. When I informed my boss, Greg was immediately let go. He sent me some expletive-filled, threatening emails and messages accusing me of ruining his life, before I blocked him and filed a restraining order. That was all weeks ago. But the reason I’m writing about it now is because yesterday, Cookie hit the STRANGER button again. Of all buttons, that one always got a reaction from me. I immediately got up and asked her, “Stranger, where?” She turned a circle and whined and then pressed, HOME. That sent my pulse through the roof. I checked all through the house. No signs of intrusion. Nothing on camera either. My fluttering heart slowed. “No stranger,” I told her. She sulked and wandered away. She was out of sorts the rest of the evening. Then today, she hit the button again. MAD, she pushed. And then, STRANGER. MAD. It was nonsensical. I found myself trying to piece together meaning the way so many other owners do when their dogs use buttons in a way that doesn't make sense. Was she calling me a stranger because I haven’t given her enough treats or pets lately? As in, “Don’t be a stranger?” But I knew that was a huge stretch. Was she saying she was mad because I wasn’t listening to her about the stranger? Maybe. But there was no stranger. I checked everywhere, including the cameras. And then, because that button in particular always got me extra freaked out, I looked up Greg. Just to make sure he hadn’t resumed stalking me. I went to his socials, where it was clear from his recent posts he still definitely held a grudge. He’d made a bunch of rants blaming me for his life spiraling ever since his job loss. Other posts claimed he had nothing left to live for. But the part that chilled me to the core? I found his obit. He ended his own life two days ago. submitted by /u/lets-split-up to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

Now she keeps pushing the same three buttons over and over, baby - not - real. submitted by /u/cleopatradenialqueen to r/TwoSentenceHorror [link] [comments]

For a story as dire and ominous as Mass Effect, it does have its funny moments for sure. My single funniest moment is of course, pressing the button in ME3. I did not expect it to go on as long as it did and it was pure comedy. Other notable funny moments: Liara being super awkward in ME1 and talking herself into corners. Admiral Koris vas Qwib Qwib: “Do not ask about the name”……immediately asks……”oh here we go” My Krogan homie spitting poetry, as cute and endearing as it was, a giant Krogan being in his feelings is hilarious. STEEEEVVVEEE….and all the reactions of the human squad mates. Jack calling Tali “Dog Legs” Wrex in all of ME3 pretty much. Grunts story of how he got arrested. Tali accurately mouthing the different sounds each Normandy makes. In Miranda’s loyalty mission in ME2, the main boss Asari casually killing the other Asari was always funny to me. The Biotic God In Andromeda…..again….pressing the button. What are some of your funny moments from the series? submitted by /u/DoggievDoggy to r/masseffect [link] [comments]

Clipped for discussion purposes from H3 show #198 “Sure, we’re both bad dog owners. Okay, but why are we talking about me?” Edit (for more context): Ethan later reads Anisa's tweets (links 1, 2, 3, 4, 5), which he also says are deflections. In response to her saying he can't train his dogs, Ethan says: "Admittedly, I try my best but, I mean, my dogs are not extraordinarily trained, right? They run around, they play a lot, and they get into trouble, and sometimes - especially the little dogs - they go potty inside. So admittedly, my dogs are not, like, the best trained, right? I admit that, but what's that fucking got to do with Hasan?" Ethan defends using the pronged dog collar on Chief, which he says his trainer recommended. He describes the collar as "totally humane" and "completely reasonable." It's only worn during walks. He denies killing Shredder with cheese. submitted by /u/Difficult_Chicken139 to r/LeftoversH3 [link] [comments]