Dog days

I just heard the craziest New York story yet.

So my girlfriend’s coworker’s brother’s girlfriend (bear with me) was dog-sitting an aging black lab in Brooklyn. The dog dies while the owners are away. The girl calls the owners, informs them.

It’s OK, they say. It’s not unexpected. We’ve looked into what to do. There’s a pet crematorium in Manhattan — here’s the address — can you take the dog there?

So the girl, who’s a grad student or something and who wants to save money (you remember how student life was), forgoes a cab ride into the city and loads the 60-pound body into a duffle bag and gets on the subway.

She gets out at the stop, lugging the heavy bag up the station stairs, when a man offers to help.

“Damn, this IS heavy. What’s in here?” he asks.

Naturally hesitant, the girl answers, “Stereo parts.”

At which point, the guy mugs her, pushing her down, grabbing the bag and running.

I just have to laugh thinking of him running a few blocks, deciding he’s safe, and then unzipping the bag to have a look at his loot, only to find the corpse of a black lab.

Only in New York, kids. Only in New York.

Update: It appears to be an urban legend, but a good one at that. It had me cracking up last night. Lia gave me a link to DYFL’s post on the same story, and here’s a link to another.

Update 2: And from Dead Cat Story