Dog Waiver: Fill & Download for Free

Yes. Mimi is aggressive, bites people and other dogs, and shits and pees in the house if there is even a faint hint of dew on the grass. Half of my family jokes they are waiting for her to die.They can wait.It started when I found my wife’s suicide note in with some house papers. You’d think I’d be loving and supportive, sitting her down to gently discuss her clinical depression and the obvious decline in her mental health following the death of her mother (they were incredibly close, and wifey’s last living family member). Let’s just say I went another way.”Who do you think is gonna FIND you?” I screamed at her. We were in the kitchen, and the floor was covered in shards of glass, curtesy of the wine glass I had hurled at the wall. No worries. I could sweep up later. There were no longer any little dog paws to worry about. Our last dog had come back to us earlier in the week in a cedar box, and had taken up residence on the bookshelf along with the other beloved dogs who had passed.This woman needed a dog. A purpose. She is the most dog-centered person I have ever met, and the loss of our little heroic schnauzer had been one painful event too many for her. I drove us to the shelter that weekend, and I kept telling her, “We are not leaving here today without a dog.”It turns out that is not the wisest approach. Apparently, you should adopt a dog with whom you feel a connection, and that’s if you’ve previously researched the breed so you know what you are getting into. I went another way.Mimi trots out to the greeting area. She hides behind the volunteer and makes no eye contact. The volunteer looks at me meaningfully and says,”We’re hoping to keep her classified as ADOPTABLE.” More meaningful eye contact. Which means in code that she will probably be euthanized soon. Shelters do all they can, but they’re overcrowded and there is only so much space, and Mimi has been returned by three different families for biting and refusing to pee outside.I don’t care. I won’t save just one life, I’ll save two! Mimi and wifey will fall in love. Mimi will learn to trust instead of bite, and my wife’s brain will start to recover from the darkness. I ignored every red flag that went up: the waiver the shelter had me sign promising to never have her around kids or other dogs, the unlimited free behavioral classes they wanted me to commit to before handing her over to us, Mimi peeing on my wife’s shoes during the greeting. There were signs, but in my desperation I ignored them all in my quest to save a dog and a wife.Mimi chose me instead.That cut wifey deeply, as you can imagine.Our house smells like a low-budget dementia wing because she has peed on the carpet in every room of our home, despite being taken out every two hours.So far she has bitten my brother, our contractor, two male visitors, two pit bulls and a husky (she’s a small daschund, but it turns out “doxies” are famous for their ferocity).But.Time really does help. It doesn’t fix grief, but it helps. Mimi has finally bonded to my wife. When my partner sobs in the morning (every morning), Mimi licks her tears with the urgency of a parent administering CPR to a child. She snuggles and sings (howls) with wifey, and at the age of seven, she is finally learning to play. We’ve learned to crate her when we have guests, and guide our visitors in how to (or NOT TO) interact with her once she is allowed out. And this dog….she looks into our eyes longer and more deeply than other dog we ever owned. It’s real, this connection that has finally blossomed. The carpets are coming up because we’re getting vinyl plank flooring like the vet has, and I’ve made peace with the pee pad that permanently lies where the hallway rug used to be.Next week we see a real actual psychiatrist, and therapy starts in two weeks.My wife got a part-time job, her first paying gig in 12 years (the first ten were spent caring for her wonderful mom, who lived with us and was suffering from dementia).Every once in a while, I can hear my wife laughing.Its a beautiful sound.This dog isn’t going anywhere. She’s home.

This is Russ Mckamey, founder of Mckamey Manor:Described as an ‘Extreme Haunt’, Mckamey Manor is a ‘Survival Horror Tour’ lasting up to eight hours, with, in its latest iteration, a prize of $20,000 for anyone who finishes it.Nobody has.So, what exactly goes on in this tour, for which you must complete a psychological evaluation, pass a physical exam, and sign a 40-page waiver in order to take part in?Torture. There are no two ways about it - the guests are tortured. Everyone’s experience is filmed, and the videos are all easily accessible on Russ’s YouTube channel. Out of curiosity, I started to watch one.From what little I could stomach, I saw:The participant having their hair forcefully shaved offThe participant being forced into a small freezerThe participant being dragged, slapped and punchedWaterboardingForce-feeding of an object I couldn’t, and don’t want to be able to, identify. I think it was an insect of some kind.This was all from around 1 minute of footage total, from various random points I skipped to in the video. This video was in total two and a half hours long - the longest a participant has lasted is six.In the waiver previously mentioned, ‘guests’ must sign to acknowledge that there is a risk of injury, broken bones, loss of teeth, loss of fingernails, and, in extreme cases - loss of life.It’s also worth mentioning that you can’t just leave at any point. Whilst eventually you will be allowed to quit, the ‘actors’ are allowed to force you to carry on for as long as they see fit. This is something else you must sign to.In an interview, Russ stated that there has been one heart attack in the years it’s been open, and that it was ‘good stuff’ when this happened.When his children were asked what they thought of it, they all, in unison, responded ‘torture’. And when a woman was asked why she was going to take part, she stated that it was to push her body to its limit.And yet, despite this, nothing about it is illegal. The guests are well aware as to what it is they are getting into, and are told by Russ several times before they even sign the waiver that they ‘really, really do not want to do this’.The guests are given every opportunity to back out before they start - and yet, they don’t.A part of me is glad Russ thought up this experience, because I don’t even want to think about how else he might’ve gotten his torture fix if he didn’t.This doesn’t change the fact though that Russ Mckamey is about as creepy as you get.Oh, also, you might be wondering about the entrance fee. In order to take part, you must pay - 4 cans of dog food. Nothing more, Russ simply runs this because he loves editing the videos and watching what goes on.He does indeed own dogs though, at least!

Back when I was taking aero engineering in college and then in USAF pilot training, you could buy a child’s toy called Jarts, which were lawn darts.They’re illegal today—after killing a few people and pets—but they made it easy to explain the answer to your question.Just throw a lawn dart way up high— with the kids and the dog indoors—and watch it turn around in the air and come down pointy end first.That’s an advanced aero engineering term: the pointy end goes first.MANNED LAWN DARTI got to ride a giant lawn dart myself shortly after earning my aero degree—which was very cool, considering I had a set of lawn darts. (I also had a toddler, but he was quick, and I did not have a dog.)The T-38 needs lots of speed to fly—compare to lawn dart photo above and note the similarity. See the look on that girl’s face? That’s how I looked every time I strapped into one.This sleek beauty has a waiver to exceed the normal speed limit of 250 knots below 10,000 feet because that’s too slow for those tiny wings. On final approach with gear and flaps down it still flies at about 170 knots, nearly 200 mph.But we were taught how to fly it as slow as 80 knots going almost straight up, without stalling.The key was to let it float. As long as we didn’t pull back on the stick, it was just a giant and very expensive, manned, lawn dart.And with the pointy end up front and tail feathers in the back, it would eventually get itself pointed downward and then would quickly pick up speed and we were soon flying again.In other words, the key to surviving running out of airspeed in a high-speed jet is to pretend you’re riding a manned lawn dart.Here’s a very expensive lawn dart heading back for Mother Earth, with the feathers in the back, where they belong.