Here are some more jokes..
WHEN MY HUSBAND, Hank, was a wire-service
reporter in San Diego, he arrived at the office one night to find that
the sports reporter had called in sick. Hank was the only reporter available
to cover a local boxing match. Warned by his boss to finish the story in
time for the Eastern newspapers' deadline, my husband went to the match
with no knowledge of boxing. He took careful notes at the fight and included
many descriptive highlights in the piece. With the deadline minutes away,
he fed his story on the wire to New York City. The next morning, still
flushed from his triumphant sports debut, he returned to the office to
find a message from his boss. "Congratulations," it read. "Your story arrived
on time, and it sounded like a great fight. Next time, mention who won."
FACED with a challenging new project at
work, I sought our manager's advice on how to proceed. After we had gone
over his suggestions, I asked him to tell me his formula for success. "What
I do, I do very well," he answered with a smile. "And what I don't do well,
I don't do at all!"
A lawer approached the service desk of
the retail discount store where I once worked and, plunking down a shoe
box, announced, "I'd like a refund, please." I opened the box and looked
the shoes over carefully -- white sandals, low heels and showing only a
little wear on the soles, caused perhaps by the woman's having tried them
on. "No problem," I said. I wrote on the refund form her name, address,
phone number and description of the returned item. "And what is the matter
with the shoes?" I asked. "Too big? Too small? Wrong style?" "No, no,"
she answered. "The wedding is over."
SHORT ON FUNDS, I decided with some apprehension
to let my roommate, a professional dog groomer, give me a haircut. To my
relief, she did a terrific job. "It's great!" I exclaimed. "But how can
I be sure to get the same style the next time I go to the beauty shop?"
"Simple," she blithely replied. "Just say you want the top cut like a poodle,
the sides like a schnauzer, and the back like a Lhasa apso."
MUCH TO OUR DISMAY, our dog gave birth
to 11 puppies. Six weeks later, we put an ad in the local paper: "FREE
TO GOOD HOME "11 Adorable Puppies." Response was meager, and at the end
of two weeks we still had seven left. We changed our tactics. The next
ad read: "FREE TO GOOD HOME 1 Very Ugly and 6 Very Pretty Puppies." As
soon as the paper came out, the phone calls started all from people who
wanted to know if we still had the "ugly" one. By the end of the next day,
we had given the "ugly" puppy away seven times.
MY FULL-GROWN and willful German-shepherd
mix, Trevor, was having a tough time of it in obedience class. A trainer
insisted on holding his leash while I walked off to call him. "Otherwise
he'll chase another dog instead of going to you," she stated. I told Trevor
to "stay" and went the required distance. "Come!" I said firmly. Trevor
did -- with gusto. The trainer kept up with him the first few feet and
then fell face-first on the wet grass. An undaunted Trevor dragged her
right up to my feet. Slowly the trainer picked herself up and looked into
my stricken face. "Don't forget to praise your dog," she said. And walked
I live on a small island off Washington
State. All residents must be ferried to a nearby island in order to work,
shop and take care of personal business. My neighbor, Dorothy, has a dog
named Pete. One weekend when some vacationers arrived with a female dog
in heat, Pete would not stay away from her. Every time Dorothy locked him
in the bathroom or the utility room, he managed to crawl out through a
window. On Monday morning, she was forced to take him to work with her.
Pete protested vigorously as Dorothy pulled him by the leash onto the eight-o'clock
ferry. "I only work half a day, so we'll be coming back on the one o'clock,"
she explained to the surprised purser. At work, Dorothy locked Pete in
the rest room. For a while, he scratched and begged to get out, but soon
settled down. At noon, Dorothy unlocked the rest-room door and discovered
that he was gone. She searched the office and the neighborhood, but could
not find her dog. At one o'clock, she boarded the ferry in tears. "I can't
find Pete anywhere," she told the purser. "Don't worry," he said brightly.
"Pete went home on the eleven-o'clock boat." --
FATHER is an easygoing man who loves children
and animals, and has never been able to discipline either. When the most
recent in a series of badly behaved family dogs died, Mother insisted our
new puppy would have to go to obedience school. On the third day of class,
Dad and Mitzi returned early. Sheepishly Dad handed Mother this note from
the instructor: "Please send Mitzi back with someone else."
OUR PUPPY, Patton, ate everything he could
-- remote controls, dish towels, tissue paper. One day I found him slurping
up some antifreeze; then I discovered that a spool of thread and a needle
were missing. I took the puppy to the veterinarian, who put in an I.V.
to flush out the dog's system. Later, the vet told me he found the needle
in Patton's throat. I felt guilty and explained that I tried very hard
to take good care of my pet. "I understand," the vet said consolingly.
"He ate the I.V. too."
OUR DOG, a Shih Tzu, was missing, and
we advertised on radio and in the paper. Several days later, a woman called.
"I think I have your dog," she told my wife, "but I don't know what a Shih
Tzu looks like." "Point your finger at the animal and say, `Bang!' " my
wife told her. In a few minutes the woman was back on the line. "The dog
fell over," she reported. We had found our pet.
I HAVE FOUR LARGE DOGS and make a special
trip to the supermarket once a month to buy food for them. One day I filled
the cart with the usual items: a 25-pound bag of chow, cans of beef, chicken
and turkey dinners, and assorted boxes of biscuits and sausage treats.
Finished, I headed for the checkout line. A man standing there stared at
my purchases and then gave me an amused look. "Are you having company tonight?"
AS A PROFESSIONAL animal trainer, I was
disturbed when my own dog developed a bad habit. Every time I hung my wash
out on the clothesline, she would yank it down. Drastic action was called
for. I put a white kitchen towel on the line and waited. Each time she
pulled it off, I scolded her. After two weeks the towel was untouched.
Then I hung out a large wash and left to do some errands. When I came home,
my clean clothes were scattered all over the yard. On the line was the
white kitchen towel.
BEFORE LEAVING on a two-week trip, my
friend took the family dog to his wife's parents, who are Italian. Back
home again, the dog turned up her nose at her supper for three days. Desperate,
my friend called his in-laws and asked, "Did Pudgy eat while she was with
you?" "No problem," his father-in-law told him. "But remember, that dog
is an Italian now. Just warm up two tablespoons of spaghetti sauce and
put it on top of her food." Pudgy ate every bite.