I bought a new couch, and my dog immediately started scratching and chewing on the armrest: I couldn’t take it anymore, I cut the fabric — and saw something horrifying inside the couch 
I had spent a long time looking for a new couch — I wanted something comfortable, stylish, and that would match the living room decor.
Eventually, I found the perfect option in a small store that, as I later found out, specialized in second-hand furniture that had been refurbished. On the outside, the couch looked brand new.
When I brought it home and placed it in the corner of the room, my dog Jerry walked over and immediately became suspicious. He’s usually calm, but this time he was acting strangely. He slowly walked around the couch, sniffed the legs, then the armrests — and stopped at the right one. Suddenly, he started scratching it with his paws.
— Found yourself a new favorite spot? — I asked, laughing.
But Jerry wouldn’t give up. He barked, scratched, sniffed harder and harder, as if he knew something was inside. I tried to distract him with a toy, a treat — no use. He was fully focused on that one armrest.
A few hours passed. I started getting nervous. Jerry isn’t usually dramatic. If he was being this persistent, something was wrong. Unpleasant thoughts started to creep in. Maybe something really was wrong with the couch?
I took a knife and, hesitating a little, cut open the fabric on the armrest. Inside there was yellow stuffing, springs, old wood — and… something black. 
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I carefully tore further, and to my horror I realized it was a dead snake. Long, coiled up, already beginning to decompose. The smell, which had been trapped by the fabric until then, hit me straight in the face. I backed away, and Jerry growled, as if warning me to stay back.
I threw out the entire armrest along with the snake and called a disinfecting service. They confirmed — the snake had most likely crawled into the couch while it was in storage or at a dump, and had died inside.
Apparently, the couch had just been reupholstered without anyone checking what was inside.
Since then, I haven’t bought second-hand furniture again.
And Jerry now only sleeps on the floor — as if he doesn’t trust any couch in the world anymore. And I get it.
