"Dogged Out"

A timid little man ventured into a biker bar in the
Bronx and, clearing his throat, asked, "Um, err, which
of you gentlemen owns the Doberman tied outside
to the parking meter?"

A giant of a man wearing biker leathers with his body
hair growing out of the seams turned slowly on his stool.
He looked down at the quivering little man and said,
"It's my dog. Why?"

"Well," squeaked the little man, very nervous, "I believe
my dog just killed it, sir."

"What?" roared the big man in disbelief. "What in the
hell kind of dog do you have?"

"Sir," answered the little man, "It's a four-week-old
puppy."

"Bull!" roared the biker, "How could your puppy kill my
Doberman?"

"It appears that he choked on it, sir."