So, yesterday was absolutely sweltering—the kind of heat where the air’s so thick you could slice it, and the pavement’s burning through your shoes. All I wanted was to dash home and crank up the air con, but first, I popped into Tesco to grab something for dinner.
As I walked past the rows of cars in the car park, squinting against the sun, something caught my attention. Turned around, and there she was—a German Shepherd, locked inside a car, panting like mad. My stomach dropped. The windows were fogged up from the heat, her tongue hanging out, eyes glazed over. You didn’t need to be a vet to see she was on the verge of heatstroke. If it’s 30°C outside, inside that metal box? Way worse.
Spotted a note on the windscreen with a phone number. Rang it straight away. Bloke answers, and I tried to keep my voice steady: *”Your dog’s boiling alive out here—get back now, or at least crack a window!”* His reply? Ice cold. *”Left her water. Mind your own business.”*
Sure enough, there was a water bottle—sealed shut. How’s a dog supposed to drink that?! I saw red. No time to argue. Grabbed the nearest rock and smashed the window. Glass everywhere, alarm blaring—didn’t care.
Pulled her out onto the pavement. She collapsed, still gasping, but already looking better. Doused her with water and shouted for help.
Few minutes later, Mr. *Responsible Owner* comes storming over, furious. *”You’ve lost the plot! I’m calling the police!”*
Well, he did. And when the officers turned up? Total plot twist. They took one look at the dog, heard both sides, and guess who got slapped with a fine and an动物 cruelty charge? Not me. They even shook my hand after.
And the dog?
She’s mine now. A happy, snoring lump of loyalty curled up at my feet. That same German Shepherd who nearly died because of some idiot’s neglect? Yeah, she’s home. And I’d smash that window again in a heartbeat.
Some people just don’t get it—animals aren’t toys. They’re living things. They *feel*. Makes my blood boil.
