That Dog

My daughter's dog is very talented. He knows all his vowels; a, e, i, o, and u. And his pronounciation isn't half-bad either. Some people think he's pretty smart.

So, to test his lingual limits, I asked him a few questions.

"Hey, Chato!" I said. (Chato is my daughter's dog's name. It means "flat-nosed.") "What is the nickname of the arbritrator in an American Footbal game?" "Ref!" replied Chato. "That's right!" I said. "Good dog!" Chato wagged his tail and got a pat on his head from me.

"Hey, Chato!" I said. "What do you call the part of the song that the lead guitarist plays over and over? It's the part of the song we all remember." "Riff!" replied Chato. "That's right, too!" I said. "Good dog!" Chato wagged his tail and got another pat on his head from me.

"Hey, Chato!" I said. "How does sandpaper feel?" "Ruff!" replied Chato. "That's right again!" I said. "Good dog!" Chato wagged his tail and got another pat on his head from me.

"Hey, Chato!" I said. "What is the slang name for those funny cigarettes that Patrick used to smoke?" "Reef!" replied Chato. "That's right again!" I said. "Good dog!" Chato wagged his tail and got another pat on his head from me.

"Hey, Chato!" I said. "When I'm in my bedroom, and I look up, what do I see?" "Roof!" replied Chato. That's when I kicked Chato right square in his butt-hole. "No, Chato, you dumb dog. It's not a roof. It's a ceiling."