I was thinking about starting a thread like this-I've done many questionable things but there's one that I'm thoroughly ashamed of.
When I was about 16 years old I was in London working on a building site with a friend of mine. I was staying at his house for the duration of the job, and paying his mom rent. His mom had this little dog that she loved to distraction, and that she took everywhere with her.
The staircase to the bedrooms kind of went up 3 steps, then made a right turn and went up the rest of the way-creating a little flat area between the 2 staircases, and it was here that the dog's basket was. My bedroom was upstairs, the upstairs bathroom didn't work, so you had to go downstairs for the bathroom if you needed to go at night.
So we went out after work and got plastered, as you do. Rolled in, went to bed and crashed out. I woke up in the middle of the night, still drunk-stagger about half way down the stairs before tripping and falling the rest of the way down, landing on the dog.
The poor thing was obviously dead-and here's the bit I'm ashamed of-I went to the bathroom and got tissue, cleaned him up and arranged him in his basket to look like he was sleeping, then went back to bed. I kept waiting for someone to come, who'd been woken up by my fall down the stairs but they never did. I laid awake the rest of the night.
Sometime during the morning-I must have dropped off to sleep because I woke up to voices downstairs-the poor dog had died in his bed during the night. My friend's mom was crying her eyes out. I went to the job site-made it to lunchtime and quit the job. I never went back to the house for my stuff-just got on the train and went home. 27 years ago now-I still feel like crap about it, but I know it would have been way worse for her if she had known the dog got killed instead of dying peacefully in it's sleep as she thought.
At least that's what I tell myself.