i lost my sense of humour, i looked for it everywhere, starting in all the obvious places, i looked under my bed, on the windowsill, i searched through my drawers and bookshelves, i looked in four places at once, i tried scanning the ceilings and staring at the walls but it was nowhere to be seen. perhaps i dropped it when i was walking along the beach. i panicked with the single thought, maybe the dog ate it, he would do something like that, i have noticed his inclination towards me lately is to pull little tricks and pranks. oh no!
my dog ate my sense of humour, devoured it while i was distracted. i can't believe it yet it is the sort of thing that could happen to me. i ring the vet.
'we never heard such nonsense, dogs don't have humour, but bring him in, we better check him out.'
'well i'm warning you, be prepared.'
of course the dog has hidden the box, he's also not in his kennel where he enjoys snoozing but he's swinging in my hammock reading peanuts and wearing my special rose coloured glasses. i offer him a dog biscuit but he demands a something more sophisticated, 'why do you give me those stupid biscuits, they just taste like cardboard,' he says. 

i'm in no mood to enter a discussion, i carry him to the car, i'll drive he says.
'you can't, you have no...'
'licence. i do, it's a dog licence.'
'oh no, you stupid dog you ate my sense of humour.'
'well it's not very funny is it, i mean it's no robin williams, no ricky gervais, i think i'm doing you a favour really.'
'shut up and let's go see this vet maybe he can help.'
'he's not sticking anything in me, i have rights you know. i should have a private health fund anyway.'

'even i don't have one so forget it.'

'last time i went to the vet this woman with a dead duck was there.'

'so, we can be in an out, you don't have to play with any other animals.'

'oh that duck was dead. the vet kept telling her but she wouldn't listen, she kept yelling at him, my ducks not dead he might be in a coma, he's not dead!'

'the vet called in a big labrador who then sniffed the duck from head to toe. then he gave the vet a look and shook his head slowly with his big sad eyes.

next a cat came in and did the same thing, meowed softly and shook its head slowly. so the vet looks at the woman and says, this is a certifiable dead duck. he goes over to his computer and punches in a few keys then to the printer where he grabs a sheet that feeds out, and hands the bill to the woman.

she reads it and shouts out, $1000, just to tell me my duck is dead.

the vet shrugs and says, lady if you had just taken my word for it the bill would be $20 but with the lab report and the cat scan it's $1000.'

'jesus, don't give up your day job,' i mutter as we hit the highway north.

'it's your humour mission.'

'ahh well a confession at least.'

'i was hungry and you leave it laying around, what do you expect?'