It was a Ruff Day
One afternoon, a little old fellow shuffled into a biker bar and asked, “Hey, does anyone here own the Doberman that’s chained up outside?”
From the back, the biggest, burliest biker you ever saw stood up. “Yeah, old timer—that’s mine. Why?”
The old man took off his cap and said softly, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m afraid your dog’s passed away.”
The biker’s eyes went wide. “What? How?!”
“Well,” the old man said, “it seems my dog killed him.”
The biker let out a laugh. “No way. Brutus could take down a bear—what kind of dog do you have?”
“A Chihuahua,” the old man replied.
The biker nearly fell over laughing. “You’re telling me that tiny thing killed my Brutus? No chance.”
“It’s true,” the old man said with a shrug. “Looks like Brutus tried to swallow him whole… and choked.”
