Dead Doberman

A highly 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, his body hair growing out
through the seams, turned slowly on his stool, looked down at the
quivering little man and said, “It’s my dog. Why?”

“Well,” squeaked the little man, obviously 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.”