I’m trying to recall a story I read, I think it might have been in one of Jan Brunvand’s books, about a poor sap who just woke up from a long coma (or returned from a long trip, etc.), and asked his friend how everything is back home. The friend replied “Well, the dog died”.
“Oh, no, poor Rover. What happened to him?”
“He was run over by the firetruck.”
“What firetruck?”
And the story goes on, until eventually you learn that this guy’s whole life has gone down the tubes, house burned, wife had an affair and left, etc. etc. etc.
It seems that it has taken a couple weeks at least to get $10-20K rewards for child-killers; whereas, it took only a couple days to get a $40K reward out for the perp who delapped and threw this bichon frise at another car, after which it died – all because he was mad from a car accident with the dog’s owner. Laptops, canine or electronic, are a bit expensive. Two SJ cops assigned full time to getting justice for this dog also.
Ray (Doggone road rage! It’s getting totally out of lap around here.)
A man is traveling out of town and after a week on the road he calls home to his wife.
“How’s everything been?”
“You dog’s dead.”
“What? Sparky’s dead! I can’t believe it! I’ve had him for years! My God, you know how much Sparky meant to me. You shouldn’t have just told me like that!”
“What do you mena?”
“Well, you should have worked your way up to it not just said it right out like that. You could have said something like Sparky was playing in the back yard. And then you could have said he was running around and chasing squirrels. And then you could have told me he was so excited he wasn’t looking where he was going. And then you could have said he ran out in the road. And then you could have told me he got hit by a car. And then you could have told me you rushed him to the vet. And then you could have told me the vet worked on him for hours but he was hurt too bad. And then you could have told me he died.”
“But it didn’t happen like that.”
“But you could have told me like that and it wouldn’t have been such a shock. I mena everyone in my family loved that dog. How’s Mom taking it?”
“Well, your Mom was playing in the back yard…”
It’s like a commercial for insurance about 20 years ago:
Family picks up dad at the airport.
“What’s new?” Dad askes.
“The flowers died.”
“Oh, how’d that happen?”
“They were burned when the garage caught fire.”
“The garage? How’s that happen?”
“Sparks from the house, I guess.”
I’d nominate that last line as one of the greatest lines ever from a commercial>
“What we have here is failure to communicate.” – Strother Martin, anticipating the Internet.
Which in turn reminds me of the classic UL about the society woman who picks her own mushrooms for her elaborate dinner party, and, concerned that they might be poisonous, feeds them to the dog. Hours later the dog is still happily running around, so she decides they’re safe and puts them in the salad.
It’s just after regaling her dinner guests with the story of her own ingenuity that the maid rushes in and sobs, “Ma’am, the dog is dead!”
Pandemonium ensues as the guests panic, and rush en masse to the hospital for stomach pumps and emetics. When the woman returns, queasy and with a ruined social life, the maid timidly informs her that the truck driver left his name and number.