Awright, here we go.
In my younger years I attended college in Calgary. Like most college students I was already pretty cash-starved, but this one year I absolutely and completely mis-managed all my money and mis-budgeted from the get-go and ended up with not enough to pay rent. With about two months left in the semester - too late to drop classes and too swamped to get a job (the horror!) - I moved out of the house and into... my car, an old 1976 Oldsmobile Cutlass. I spent the last two months of the semester sleeping in the backseat or in one of the study halls, showering in the gymnasium changing rooms, and eating little more than crackers. Ultimately I passed the semester; barely.
Those that know me know that I have two longish scars on my left wrist from when I flew off a gas powered dirt-bike in junior high school and shattered my wrist in two parts, requiring plates and screws to be applied to keep it together to heal. Fast forward to a few years back when I was in a job position that involved hiring people. Three of us who were going to conduct the interview were waiting for the interviewee to show up and I decided to share my biking story. One of the others in the group decided to one-up me and explained his motorbiking accident. The young-just-out-of-college-HR-associate walked the potential candidate into the interview room just as my colleague was explaining - in great detail, mind you - just how he had managed to rip open his scrotum and needing his friends at the time to help him stem the bleeding until they could get him to help. (I ended up not hiring the candidate)
I used to own a pure white Siberian Husky with gorgeous blue eyes. She was a beautiful dog and I loved her to death. Well, ultimately, she did pass on, and it tore me up inside. I was a wreck. I buried her in the back yard and bawled my eyes out. It was raining that morning, I remember it clearly. Days went by and I was useless. Several days after her passing I thought I heard something in the backyard in the evening. Sticking my head out I saw, right where she was buried, what looked like another white dog sniffing at the ground. I got my shoes on to go look but, by the time I got out there, the dog was nowhere to be seen. My wife felt that the dog was trying to find where the dog-smell-from-the-ground was coming from.