A timid little man, walked 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 little
four week old female puppy."

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

"It appears that your dog choked on her, sir."