The Veterinarian’s Bill

Ralph D. Jeffords reports he could not find this currently popular pun on the website. He’s exactly correct; this is a clear omission. He tells us:

I was surprised that the following groaner is not included at your site. I found 273 sites of what is pretty much the same version I originally saw over 3 years ago via GOOGLE: ( “veterinary” “cat scan” “lab work” ). My version extends this with an additional PUNch line on ‘blood test’ as well as turning it into an Ole and Lena joke for added effect.

Ole’s dog Knute was getting old, and one day Ole noticed that Knute wouldn’t even come out of his dog house. Lena suggested, “Yah, I tink you better take ol’ Knute to de wet-inarian.” So Ole put Knute in the car and drove across town to the veterinary clinic. As the vet laid the limp dog on the examining table, he pulled out his stethoscope and put it on Knute’s chest. After a moment, the vet shook his head sadly and said, “I’m sorry, but old Knute has passed away. He’s now up in Lutheran doggy heaven.”

“Vhat?” screamed Ole. “How you can tell? You haven’t done no testink on him or no-ting yet! Don’t yoost standt dere–do some-ting!”

With that, the vet turned and left the room. In a minute, he returned with a droopy-eared old bloodhound. The bloodhound went right to work, checking the poor dead dog out thoroughly. He sniffed Knute all over from head to foot, with emphasis on the hind end. Then the hound sadly shook his head back and forth (even sadder than a bloodhound’s normal appearance which is always so sad anyway) and whimpered, “Woof.”

The vet led the bloodhound out of the examining room and next brought in a big orange tomcat. The cat looked the old dog over from head to foot: he glared with his big yellow eyes into the dead dog’s eyes and ears; he looked at the dog’s paws, and examined the dog’s coat. He then turned to the vet, sadly shook his head, and curtly said, “Meow.” Then he arched his back, hissed, jumped off the table, and dashed out of the room–glad to be done with that nasty business.

Finally the vet brought in a big black Labrador retriever. The Labrador pawed at the dead dog for several minutes and barked loudly directly into Knute’s ears. He even lifted his leg and peed all over Knute’s face (and everywhere else–the doctor really was, as Lena says, a “wet-inarian.”) Giving up, he too turned to the vet, shook his head sadly, emitted a simple, “Growl,” jumped down, and walked out of the room. After he cleaned up, the veterinarian handed Ole a bill for $500. Ole was, needless to say, quite incensed. His face turned beet red and he shouted, “Fife honnert dollars yoost to tell me Knute bane dead! Vhy dis bane outrageous! By Yiminy, dis bane highvay robbering!!!”

The vet shook his head sadly and explained. “If you had only agreed with my initial diagnosis, there would have been no charge. But with the blood test, the cat scan, and the Lab work . . .”

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