Driving back from Vermont, I stopped at a vegetable stand. It was deserted except for a sleeping German shepherd.
I stepped over the dog, helped myself to some corn, then opened the cash box to pay.
Taped to the inside of the lid was this note: "The dog can count."
I was cleaning a hotel room when the previous occupant came in, looking for her husband’s keys.
We searched high and low without luck. I finally peeked underneath the bed closest to the wall.
"Don’t bother—that was my bed," she said. "He wouldn’t have gone anywhere near it."
My wife and her friend Karen were talking about their labor-saving devices as they pulled into our driveway. Karen said, “I love my new garage-door opener.”
“I love mine too,” my wife replied, and honked the horn three times. That was the signal for me to come out and open the garage.