Saturday, February 29, 2020

I’m so bad at grammar that I tripped and fell down a good.

I have an ongoing conversation with a friend about things like this. 

I have a habit of commenting on things that I see.  I suppose writing a blog for more than Ten Years is a good outlet for that sort of Navel Gazing but I get static back. 

My usual response to people who question me is straightforward: " I am one of the helpers."

I usually have to follow that with "My first instinct is to help, to make a positive change".

Then I read a cynical story like this one and wonder if maybe my thoughts are a bit misplaced these days.

Dunno, maybe not, and maybe it's a view inside my present state of mind.  

Skip it, I'm going to make some coffee.  Want some?



I saw a woman drop her purse in the high street this morning, so I quickly followed her.

As I was just about to tap her on the shoulder she started running for a bus.

So I ran after her shouting, “You dropped your purse! You dropped your purse!”

She didn’t hear me and proceeded to get onto the bus, so I got on the bus too.

As I walked to the back of the bus I breathlessly said, “You dropped your purse on the floor outside outside McDonald’s.

Thank you so much she said, Where is it?

I said, I’ve just told you, on the floor outside McDonald’s.

Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Goodbye Justin Flippen, Mayor of Wilton Manors, Rest in Peace

Weird how things happen rapidly.

We were sitting in the living room watching TV.  An old I Dream Of Jeannie rerun.  Silly little plot about Jeannie getting locked in a safe that was going to be sent to the moon.  Completely implausible.

I heard from the other side of the room:

"Uh Oh, this is bad."
What happened?
"Justin had a heart attack.  We don't know if he's made it through or not.".
No, can't be!

It turned out that he didn't survive.

He was out driving his car and we actually had an address where he had the attack, 4500 block of Andrews Avenue.  Strange little detail that entered my mind, it was down to the house number.  That in itself felt rather incongruous.

Now I keep thinking about driving down that way.  No reason to do that, I know where it is, just off Prospect near the "Good Hardware Store". Ace may be the place with the helpful hardware folks, but they can't bring Justin back.

He was a politician, the Mayor of Wilton Manors. A commissioner before that.

Mind you, I have run into politicians over the years, Justin Flippen simply did not "act like a politician".   He wasn't the kind of person who when you talk to them you feel like you are talking to a wall. 

Justin seemed to genuinely be interested in what you had to say.  I guess you can't really get away with that detached feeling in a small city of almost 13,000.

He had a bright and sunny air about him.  You would speak with him and somehow you would feel like all of his attention was turned to you and the rest of the world was secondary.

So "bang" just like that, our friend Justin is gone. 

He wasn't the one that I would have expected to have gone first.  At 41, he was way too young to go.  As they say, it is the first heart attack that is most likely to kill you.

We will go on.  The event gives us pause to look at our own health and ask if that could be you.  Do you exercise too little?  Is your diet too full of salt and fat?  Or are you at risk from a stroke or some other issues?

Don't know.  I'll personally look into that myself, it's overdue.

Justin, thanks for being here, and a friend.  I did appreciate every time you went out of your way to talk to me. 

He would ask how things were here in the neighborhood from time to time when he spotted you.   If he spotted you, that was expected.  He was that kind of guy.

I'd spot him chatting at one of the bars here in town, not holding court but making sure he was in touch with the people there.  He'd stay informed that way and be better at being Mayor.

So now he's gone, and we're all scratching our collective heads.

Way too soon.

Goodbye Justin Flippen, you were a friend, and you are missed by many.

Sunday, February 23, 2020

Yesterday, I changed a light bulb, crossed the street, and walked into a bar. My life is a joke.

Longer Jokes have been a bit "thin on the ground" here lately.  On the other hand, when I read the punch line on this one, I laughed loud enough to startle the dog and get the parrot chattering.

I think you'll like it.




Big Jake

It's a quiet day in the saloon when a cowboy runs in. With a panicked look on his face, he says, "Everybody run, I just got word that Big Jake is comin' to town!".

The bartender, who's new in town, is shocked to see everybody get up and run out. He grabs a patron by the bar and asks, "What' happening?".

"D-d-didn't you hear, man? Big Jake's comin' to town!"

The bartender is confused, but rolls with it. But, since he doesn't want people coming and looting the saloon, he decides to stick around.

Just then, the meanest, tallest, ugliest son-of-a-bitch the bartender's ever seen bursts into the room. He slams the door so hard it falls clean off its hinges. He's eight foot tall, and nearly as wide. Every inch of his face is either scarred or tattooed. His ears are pierced with two massive railroad spikes. He picks up a table and throws it straight down through the floor, just to show that he can.

He walks up to the bar and slams his fist down on it so hard that it splits clean in two. "HEY, BARKEEP!", he yells. "GIMME THAT BOTTLE O' WHISKEY!"

Shaking, the barkeeper hands the bottle over. In one massive gulp, he downs the entire bottle before smashing it over his own head. "NOW GIMME THAT BOTTLE O' TEQUILLA!"

Again, the barkeeper hands over the bottle, which the stranger downs in a single gulp before breaking the bottle over his head. He scoops up some of the glass and eats it, just to show how tough he is.

Wanting to stay on his good side, the bartender asks him, "I-i-is there anything else I can get you, sir?".

The stranger says "THANKS PARDNER, BUT I GOTS TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, FAST! I HEARD THAT BIG JAKE'S COMIN' TO TOWN!"

Saturday, February 22, 2020

How do intruders get inside your home? In through the window!

This first of three I quote all the time. 
Usually while smiling at the person I am talking to.  
You will see why very shortly!


Two physicists go hiking

A theoretical physicist and an applied physicist go hiking on the Appalachian Trail. Suddenly they spot a black bear running towards them. The applied physicist starts taking off his boots.

The theoretical physicist says, "It's not possible to outrun a bear."

The applied physicist says, "I don't. I just have to outrun you."




My nephew took a career placement test at school.

It told him he was going to be a pirate when he grew up. My sister was furious. She matched to the school and demanded to speak to his teacher.

"Why does this test say that my son is supposed to be a pirate?! Is this some kind of joke?"

The teacher calmly pulled out the boy's report card.

"No ma'am, it's not a mistake. As you can see here, your son has an affinity for High C's."



I once dated a masseuse...

On the first date she massaged my shoulders.

On the second date she massaged my feet.

On the third date she gave me a full body massage.

But, in the end it never worked out.

She kept giving me mixed massages

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Bamboo Poles At The Back Of The Pool Or What To Do When It Gets Too Close To The Powerlines

Years ago at this point, probably about a decade, we went off to a Bamboo Nursery.

People in Asia love the stuff.  It's used heavily in construction, cuisine, art and so forth.  I figured I would have a ready supply of Bamboo to do oddball things with it. 

But this particular bamboo we brought home from the nursery has quirks.

We planted it further back, but over the years, it's gone closer to the pool and readily drops nearly indestructible leaves into the pool. 

As it matured, it has gotten thicker.  It started out smaller than my smallest finger, and was a clumping bamboo the size of a bucket.  Since we took the SUV to the Bamboo Nursery, we were able to stick the rootball in the back of the car, and have the greenery stick into the front of the cabin.

I remember riding back from Palm Beach County with my arm draped over top of it so the way home could be seen.

Now the thinner than my finger stalks have gotten thicker than my thumb, maybe two fingers wide.  It has gone from being a maximum of ten feet tall (3m) to growing taller than the highest supply lines on the electricity easement behind the house.  I'd say it's at least 30 feet (9M) and growing.

We noticed, then panicked since you are constantly looking over your shoulder in South Florida at the next hurricane season.  Those two stalks had to be cut down.

We did, and laying next to the pool I realized it was longer than the 32 foot (9m) length of the pool.  Even if my math here is being a little off, my estimates stand. 

Since the stalks we cut were too nice to throw away, I cut them into roughly 6 foot tall, shoulder length bits.  One of them is a handy Me Sized length and I am taller than 6 foot by another four inches.  (193 cm in new money).

But what to do?

At this point, I made an accent pot since putting plants at the back of the pool was a great idea until Hurricane Irma knocked my cactus into the deep end and all over the back of the pool.

I had a strawberry pot that I wasn't doing much with other than collecting dust.

I Know, Let's Put Together One Of Those Accent Pots!

Basically it's the least I could do.  I cut them with the electric saw to roughly the same length and stuck them there, at the back of the pool.  I will water them as much as I watered the cactus, which is to say, Not At All.

The leftover bits are going to be chewed up by my parrot Oscar, and there are two little lengths that will be shot glasses once I sand them smooth.

Or maybe not.  At least they won't create a circuit-to-ground from the high voltage wires!

Sunday, February 16, 2020

When does a dad joke become a dad joke? When it becomes apparent!

When I skate, I do so at a trail that circles an airport and a golf course.  Both service activities that skew older.  I feel like a youngster at my mid workout stop at the bench outside of the pro show at the golf course. 

Those golfers are as bemused by me as I am by them.  I roll up with my heart rate coming down from above 170BPM, drenched in sweat, dressed in shorts and t-shirt and protective pads.  I park myself and slam down that bottle of water that tastes so very good and almost always, I end up with people who are engaged by this seven foot tall with skates and helmet person. 

They always want to share their lives if for only a little bit, and it can be a rather nice turn of pace.

Then as my heart rate drops below 135 and it's time to go and burn another thousand calories.

Some of the folks there are quite old, and it reminded me of this story when I read it.



Two 90 year old men, Mike and Joe, have been friends all of their lives.

When it's clear that Joe is dying, Mike visits him every day.

One day Mike says, "Joe, we both loved football all our lives, and we played football on Saturdays together for so many years. Please do me one favour, when you get to Heaven, somehow you must let me know if there's football there."

Joe looks up at Mike from his death bed, "Mike, you've been my best friend for many years. If it's at all possible, I'll do this favour for you.

Shortly after that, Joe passes away.

A couple of nights later, at midnight, Mike is awakened from a sound sleep by a blinding flash of white light and a voice calling out to him, "Mike--Mike."

"Who is it ?" asks Mike sitting up suddenly. "Who is it?"

"Mike--it's me, Joe."

"You're not Joe. Joe just died."

"I'm telling you, it's me, Joe," insists the voice."

"Joe! Where are you?"

"In heaven", replies Joe. "I have some really good news and a little bad news."

"Tell me the good news first," says Mike.

"The good news," Joe says," is that there's football in heaven. Better yet, all of our old friends who died before us are here, too. Better than that, we're all young again. Better still, it's always spring time and it never rains or snows. And best of all, we can play football all we want, and we never get tired."

That's fantastic," says Mike. "It's beyond my wildest dreams !" "So, what's the bad news ?"

"You're in the team for this Saturday's match !!!"

Saturday, February 15, 2020

If you're happy and you know it, it's your meds!

At the end of the day, a Border Collie reported back to the rancher, "All 50 sheep accounted for, boss!"
"Wait, I only have 48 sheep!" he replied.
"I know," said the dog, "but I rounded them up."


I was sitting in a bar and some Comic Sans tried to hit on me.
I said, "Sorry, you're not my type."



I was eating lunch in the park when all of a sudden a crow landed in front of me and promptly keeled over on its side. I set my lunch down and leaned forward to see what the matter was.

In that moment, an owl swooped in, plucked my sandwich off the bench, and carried it up to the treetop above me. Imagine my further surprise when the crow sprang to its feet and fluttered up to join the owl in devouring my sandwich.

I think they were in caw-hoots.



A pilot and his co-pilot fly in an empty passenger plane.

Mid flight, the pilot decides to land the plane with the top of its head torwords the ground. The plane crashes, and everything goes boom. Neither of them survived.

In the after life, the co-pilot asks the pilot: "Why have you done this?"

The pilot answers: "I thought it would go Boeing."



My mother always used to say "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach"

Nice lady and all, I truly loved her, but a terrible surgeon

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

The Thump Of A Monarch Butterfly

We have weirdly friendly wildlife here in the middle of the suburban sprawl that is South Florida.

I regularly see opossums on my back porch, well technically a Lanai, but I'm not that posh.  I don't think they know what to think of me, but I do my Steve Irwin act and tell them that I mean them no harm and they should go about their business.

Bad Aussie sometimes included. 

Besides they eat ticks and neither me nor Rack the McNab SuperDog (TM) like ticks.

There are flocks of white birds that land from time to time and pick through the yard eating grubs. 

Flocks of Feral Parrots making a racket in the trees. just after dawn and just before sunset.  That's the call to flock and it mirrors when Oscar the ornery Orange Wing Parrot that shares the house gets loud.  

I give him a quarter of an orange and he's quiet.

But the thing is that I really rarely know what I am going to come across. 

One morning I was out back for the yard inspection.  Every day, skim the pool, check the irrigation, and consider whether I can take more cuttings for propagation to build up the hedges or some such.

I stepped away from the house and felt something thump on my head.

Strange.  The birds out there are not quite that bold.  They yell at me, I imitate them and they get more annoyed, but they almost never get closer than ten feet. 

It could not have been a bird.

Going by the bougainvillea and the spa, my head got thumped again.

Ok, something is decidedly too friendly here.

Turns out that it was one of the Monarch Butterflies that are around the place.  I see one, at least, every day.  This one must have thought that yesterday's Apple Shampoo meant something in its little insect brain but couldn't find anything to eat.

Try my brains.  Brains good.  I'm not using them right now anyway!

It fluttered around the yard and ended up on the Bougainvillea behind my bedroom window.   He came to a landing and began to drink up his fill.   I say he because he had the spot on each of the back wings that denote that.

"Hey you little bugger, go have your fill!  That's why I keep that plant there!"

I went back to inspecting the Rosemary that is starting to take root under the Bougainvillea.  Pizza Spice for Ground Cover.  At least it will smell good.

I have a constant churn of butterfly friendly plants in the yard.   The milkweed regularly gets eaten down to wee sticks, and the butterflies lay their eggs there. 

I've got Poinsettia there, but the butterflies seem to ignore that.

As well as other oddball plants, it's an overfull garden.

Just the way I like it.  I have never lived in an empty property where there is a question of how do I want to put in the hedges.  I simply maintain it.  Filling in where necessary.

The scent of Jasmine on the breezes, the flowers of the red Hibiscus, the Podocarpus all fight it out to determine where We begin and They end. 

But plenty there for a wandering Monarch to land and eat.

And to thump me in the back of the head from time to time.

Sunday, February 9, 2020

To The guy who stole my antidepressants I hope you’re happy now!

Dr. Johnson is approached by Ted, a new vampire.

“I just got turned,” Ted tells him. “You gotta help me out. I need blood, and I don’t want to kill anyone.”

Dr. Johnson agrees to help, providing Ted with the blood bags he needs. He refers Ted to counseling to deal with the psychological effects of the change. He even lets Ted crash on his couch while he looks for a job with a night shift opening.

But a week later, during his rounds on the coma ward, Dr. Johnson notices suspicious marks on several necks.

Ted confesses. “I just couldn’t resist.”

Dr. Johnson sighs. “I wanted to help you. I really did. I gave you food, and I even offered you a place to stay. But now, Ted—”

Dr Johnson shakes his head. “You’re beginning to try my patients.”

Saturday, February 8, 2020

I got told to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. Now I’m a mile away and I have their shoes.

Sorry grandpa

So you are lying on your death bed and you spell something, something nice so you roll right off the bed crawling and you sense it is on the table and you try to stand up and you see your daughters delicious homemade cookies so you try to grab it but your daughter slaps your hand and says “those are for the funeral”



My son was just born and another dad at the nursery congratulated me and said his daughter was born yesterday he then chuckled and said maybe they'll marry each other.

I'm like yeah cuz my son is going to marry someone twice his age



The other day, I read that people eat more bananas than monkeys.

No surprises there. I can't remember the last time I ate a monkey.



Today, my son asked "Can I have a book mark?" and I burst into tears. 11 years old and he still doesn't know my name is Brian



I spotted several pairs of men’s Levi’s at a garage sale.

They were sizes 30, 31, and 32, but I was looking for size 33. So I asked the owner if he had a pair. He shook his head.

“I’m still wearing the 33s,” he said. “Come back next year.”

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

DIY Addict Goes On The Hunt For A Special Skate Screw With A Rare Thread

(Stands up)Hi, I'm Bill!

(Hi Bill!)
I'm a DIY Addict!

And here's my story. 

Not to minimize other's challenges in life, but this should be easier.

I'm that guy.  I drive a 19 year old Jeep Wrangler.  I still have and use radios, some of them have tubes in them.

Yes, actual Tubes.  Orange glow, hot musty smell, and so on. 

They may smell like old wood, but they really do sound much better than the internet feed I'm listening to at this moment.

That would be Valves for my friends Ol' Blighty.

Why is that?  Simple, I fix things.   Always have.  All the way down to soldering individual components on a printed circuit board.

I remember deeply annoying my father because before he had a chance to get his tape player fixed in the car, I did the repair for him.  It was just a thrown belt off the tape mechanism. 

I could see him wind up to get loud and start a shouting match but "Hey, it works now, go play your tapes" was all I said.

Then I walked out and hid in the bedroom where I kept the shortwave radio and tuned in Radio Canada International.  9625 MHz.  They aren't there anymore.  Too bad, the news was always better there. 

That era was where I got hooked on listening to the World Service Of The BBC and the time signal "pips" from the relay in Sackville, New Brunswick, Canada.

I know, I was weird.  Still am, now it's all in Spanish and I tell myself it helps my studies.

But all this equipment needs maintenance. 

My car, My radios, and even my skates.

I just didn't think that having "Old Things That Need Maintenance" would include my workouts.

You see, I beat myself up on the trails, hard.  Yesterday was a 2 hour, 2000 calories, 15 mile endurance skate.  Average heart rate is 170BPM, or near enough to that.

I consider that an easy morning at the park.

I have three pairs of skates that I trade off with.  Two are from the last century.  I always have a spare pair in the Jeep when I get to the park.  If the chafing is too bad from the hot spots, I can always stick a square of moleskin on the spot and go on, or if I 'Throw A Bolt" and lose a wheel, I can swap out the skates and get back on the trail.

That throwing bolts thing.  You see, that's why god made Lock Washers.  Oh, and Permatex Blue.  You have both of those things and your bolts won't fly off when you're on a corner, and at the speeds I do, falling is guaranteed to cause injury.  They just aren't standard issue on a pair of skates.

I had found some $5 Skates at a local thrift store, still in the box with the original information.  They weren't anything special but they were NEW.  With that new boot smell.  Tried once and tossed away.  My Good skates are from before 2003 and parts are dry rotting off of the boots.

So I snagged them, used my discounts, and eventually tried them out.

If you are one of the new people considering skating as a sport instead of just tootling around the neighborhood behind your children on the Cul De Sac in the suburbs, let me clue you in.

If your skates are less than $150, they are going to be junk.  If you don't have a truck (frame for the wheels) that is either Carbon Fiber or some sort of metal, there will be too much flex and you will hate them.

I knew these were ... ahem ... modest boots, but I had skated more than 10,000 miles on similar boots back in the first skating boom.  I had modded them with a Speed Kit and Heat Molding.

Heat Molding is applying a heat gun to a plastic part to make it soft and to use something that is not heat conducting to push that part into a better shape.  I used a bamboo stick I cut from my yard, and the boots are much more comfortable.

Now, I could have a skate shop here.  Easily.  As in a proper "Pro Shop".  It's not a brag, I have skated total just under 22,000 miles (in old money) or 35,405 KM for the imperially impaired. 

You don't do that without picking up some tricks.

In this case, you replace the bearings with some faster ones.  I have a couple of old cottage cheese containers crammed with bearings that have been cleaned, lubed, and certified for use.

Next, you replace the wheels with harder and larger wheels.  80 MM wheels, at least 80A hardness, but closer to 90A is better for speed.  Some folks ride on wheels that belong on the bottom of my wheely bin out front - 125 MM tall - Five Freakin' Inches tall!  On Inline Skates!  WOO HOO!  Speeeeeeed!  I CAN'T STOP!  (OOF!)

Now, bearings and wheels are upgraded.  What next?  What sick trick is Mr DIY going to do with this pair of (ahem) low end skates?

Speed Kit.  At least that is what we called them back in the first skate boom. 

I have a different cottage cheese container with a bunch of speed kits.   Typically low end skates come with white plastic things that fit between the bearings to space out things and give rigidity.   Put them in the trash.

My cottage cheese container is stuffed with Aluminum Spacers.  To be fair, they're probably good enough for "you". 

In my case, I need faster.   I need a pair with bolts.  They're screwed in place to minimize friction and stiffen them.   They are set up so that the wheels run free when spun for as long as you have a mind to lube the darn things up.

I had a bunch I scavenged off old skates and closed up skate stores over the years but as time goes on, you start losing parts.  Move 1200 miles south and you lose more.

I found I have 16 speed kits, but only 7 complete sets.   A Set is a spacer that is threaded, a pair of lock washers, and a pair of screws.

So this being a precision set up, turning a Leisure Activity into a proper Sport, of course I needed another speed kit, at least.

Should be easy to find those screws, right?

WRONG.  BUZZ!  TRY AGAIN!

Apparently the two big box hardware stores, that everyone knows, decided that they don't have the demand to carry that specific screw to hold everything in place. 

Lock washers we have! 

But those bolts.  Have you ever considered how many different bolts there are?

Mr DIY has.  There are bolts with three kinds of methods to tighten them, more if you want to be really annoying.  Regular slotted screw heads are no good on a trail.  Phillips cross head screws can work but that means you take your skate tool with you for the eventual breakdown.   The original speed kit had two "1/4 inch, 28 thread, button head socket cap, 3/4 inch long". 

Yeah I didn't think so.  Apparently it's only used in weird applications.  Different threads you see.  Like my soon to be upgraded cheap skate boots.

Went to Orange Big Box store #1.  Nope

Went to Blue Big Box store #2.  Nada, although I really entertained the folks there when I rolled in on a pair of skates to the screws and bolts needed on my skates for more parts.  They were unnerved by me being over 7 feet tall in skates, helmet, pads and sweaty from the workout.   Sorry folks.

Went to old line hardware store with the helpful hardware man.  Helpful but sorry.  Had a nice chat about my 19 year old Jeep Wrangler TJ.  4 liter AMC Inline six.  Never kill engine.

Finally went to the other old line hardware store with a different hardware guy. 

I won't say success.  I ended up finding a screw with the right threads and length but it has a cross head Phillips in the top.  Everything else fits.

So if you are out on the trail in Pompano Beach and throw a bolt on your speed kit, I have a spare.

Even if the Sport is getting slowly more popular, it's doubtful you'll spot me fly past so I'll skate on happily.

You see, my own Pro Shop Standard is a minimum of 30 seconds worth of free rolling once you start.   I really want a minute.  I'll let you know how that all works out.

Sunday, February 2, 2020

What starts with a T, ends with a T & has T inside? Teapot

Career Choices

As a child, I thought about being a musician, but all my efforts fell flat.

In High School, my teachers seemed to be pushing a career as an astronaut, but then I realized they had something else in mind when they said I was “a real space cadet.”

My first job was working in an orange juice factory, but I got canned because I couldn’t concentrate.

Then I worked in the woods as a lumberjack, but I couldn’t hack it, so they gave me the axe.

I had hopes of being a professional Bridge player, but I had no finesse so they shuffled me out the door.

Next, I became a personal trainer, but was asked to leave because I wasn’t working out.

I tried working in a muffler factory, but I found that too exhausting.

So, I attempted to be a deli worker, but any way I sliced it, I couldn’t cut the mustard.

I studied a long time to become a doctor, but in the end I didn’t have the patients for it.

Next was a job in a shoe factory. I tried, I really did, but I just didn’t fit in.

As a professional fisherman, I couldn’t catch on and hence I couldn’t live on my net income.

So I tried computer software, but couldn’t get with the program.

I thought I might be one of those professional eaters—pies, hot dogs, and the like—but I didn’t have the stomach for it.

After many years of trying to find steady work, I finally got a job as a historian—until I realized there was no future in it.

I was beginning to feel like my grandfather who was an executioner in the old West. He could never get the hang of it, so they cut him loose.

My last job was working in Starbucks, but I eventually quit because it was always the same old grind.

So I tried retirement, and you know what? I’m perfect for the job.

Saturday, February 1, 2020

What's worse than a pathological liar? A pathological truth teller.

I live in a city where there are literally herds of Ducks wandering around.

It started when a woman with no life and serious OCD started feeding them.

Then I ended up with 17 of them literally on my front porch that is about the size of a California King Bed.

Then we noticed foxes started showing up in the neighborhood.

When you have ducks breeding, you have baby ducks.  When you have baby ducks and foxes, the foxes win.

The moral of that story is If You Want To Feed Foxes, Toss Some Crackers at the Ducks.


And on that subject of Ducks...


A woman brought a very limp duck to Dr.Santa, a veterinary surgeon.

As she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the duck’s chest.

After a moment or two, the vet shook his head sadly and said, “I’m sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has passed away.”

The distressed woman wailed, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. The duck is dead,” replied Dr.Santa.

“How can you be so sure?” she protested. “I mean you haven’t done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something.”

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a Labrador. As the duck’s owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom. He then looked up at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.

The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with a cat. The cat jumped on the table and also delicately sniffed the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.

The vet looked at the woman and said, “I’m sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck.”

Dr.Santa turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman. The duck’s owner, still in shock, took the bill. “$150!” she cried, “$150 just to tell me my duck is dead!”

The vet shrugged, “I’m sorry. If you had just taken my word for it, the bill would have been $10, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it’s now $150.”