A man is driving down a country road one afternoon and sees a sign on a fence post:
“Talking dog, $10.”
Curious, he knocks on the door.
“He’s out back,” says the farmer, and shows him through the kitchen to the back door. There, laying down at the bottom of the porch is an aging German Shepard.
“You can talk?” He asks.
The dog looks up at him. “Oh yeah. I can talk.”
The man is taken aback, but pushes forward. “How did this come about?”
“I don’t know. I just learned when I was a puppy, picked up words, before I knew it, was making sentences. Oh, it was a big deal. My owner there took me to the college down the road, and then they got all hushed up about it, and I ended up working for the FBI. I worked drugs. No one ever suspects that a dog can repeat what he hears, so I was an informant. I was part of a lot of big drug busts, got awards, the whole shootin’ match. They tried to breed me, make other talking dogs, but whatever it is, it is not genetic. It does not repeat.
“Anyway, you might have seen me in airports too. After I got to be known among the criminal class, they moved me over to TSA and I used to mingle with crowds listening, and report suspicious activity. Again, quite a few drug busts and stuff, lots of awards.
“But I was tired. I wanted a normal life. So they retired me, brought me back here so I could hang out, relax, have some pups, sniff some butts, just enjoy being a dog.”
The man was impressed and went back in the house. He offered to buy the dog.
“Ten bucks,” said the farmer.
“That’s crazy,” said the man. That dog is worth a fortune. You’re giving him away!”
The farmer looked at him and sighed and after a pause put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “The dog never worked for FBI, never worked for TSA. he never did any of that stuff. He just watches too much TV.
“The dog’s a bullshitter.”