I had to tear the fabric of the new couch I ordered because I could no longer put up with my dog gnawing and scratching at the armrest. Something horrible was inside the couch 
I had been looking for a new couch for some time; I wanted something that would complement the living room’s style and be both comfortable and stylish.
Ultimately, I found the perfect option in a small store that, as I later learned, specialized in reconditioned used furniture. From the exterior, the couch looked if it had just been purchased.
When I brought it home and placed it in the corner of the room, my dog, Jerry, came over and became suspicious. He’s typically calm, but this time he was behaving strangely. He walked slowly around the couch, sniffed the armrests, then the legs, and stopped at the one on the right. Suddenly he was itching for it.
— Did you find a new favorite spot? — I said, laughing.
But Jerry was not going to give up. He snarled, scraped, and smelled more and more, as if he sensed something inside. I tried using a reward and a toy to distract him, but it didn’t work. His gaze was fixed on that lone armrest.
Hours passed. I started to feel nervous. Jerry isn’t usually dramatic. If he was being so pushy, something was amiss. Negative ideas started to creep in. Maybe there was a big problem with the couch?
I hesitated for a moment before picking up a knife and cutting through the fabric of the armrest. Something black was within, along with springs, yellow filling, and old wood 
I cautiously kept crying, and to my astonishment, I saw it was a dead snake. Long, curled up, beginning to disintegrate. The smell, which until then had been contained by the fabric, hit me square in the face. I backed off, and Jerry growled as though to tell me to stay back.
I threw out the entire armrest and the snake and called a sanitizing service. They confirmed that the snake most likely slithered inside the couch while being stored or at a dump, where it died.
It appears that the couch’s upholstery was recently changed without anyone looking through its contents.
Since then, I haven’t bought any used furniture.
Jerry now just sleeps on the floor, as though he no longer believes in any couch. And I get it.
