My great grandpa had a run down farmhouse out in Lucerne Valley, CA and he would drive us around in a golf cart and once we were out of line of sight of our parents he’d become REALLY crass and racist. He also drove us straight to the barn one time, and pointed out that it was locked and told us to never even think about going inside. Then he’d drive us back and watch us like a hawk the rest of the day.

After he died, we found out what was in the attic of the barn.

They had a dog named Rusty, and instead of burying him, they stuffed him in a steamer trunk.