At dawn George Smith’s telephone rings. “Hello, Señor Smith? This is Ernesto the caretaker at your country house.”

“Oh, good morning, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is everything alright?”

“Umm… I am just calling to tell you, sir, that… your parrot Scratchy died today.”

“My parrot? Dead? The one that won the International parrot competition?”

“Si, Sir, that’s the one.”

“You’re kidding? I spent a small fortune on that bird. How did he die?”

“He died from eating rotten meat, sir.”

After a brief silence, Smith asks, “Rotten meat? Who fed him rotten meat?”

“Nobody señor. He ate the meat of one of the dead horses.”

“Dead horses? What dead horses?”

“Well, for one, the thoroughbred, Mr. Lucky. He died from all that work pulling the water cart.”

“Ernesto, are you insane? What water cart?”

“The one we used to put out the fire.”

“Good heavens! What fire are you talking about, man?”

“The one at the house! A candle fell and the curtains caught on fire.”

“What in the…? But there’s electricity at the house!!!! What was the candle for?”

“For the funeral.”

“What funeral?”

“Your wife’s funeral. She showed up the other night out of the blue and I thought she was a thief, so I hit her with your new Tiger Woods Nike Driver.”

A long silence ensues.

“Ernesto, if you broke that driver you’re fired!”