I wouldn't turn a knight out on a dog like this.

I'm pretty sure that in a past life I was somebody who made people laugh. Not like a circus clown or a politician, but someone, you know, really cool and important: I think I was a stand-up comic. The reason I believe this is that now that I'm just a dog, I still love to crack people up. I will do or say anything to get you to nose your milk. Check this out:

A bulldog, a pug, and a borzoi go into a bar. Bartender says to the borzoi, "Why the long face?"

Or wait--this is even better: I think Martha Stewart is stalking me. The poop in my back yard has been sculpted into swans!

Or how about this one: I know a scientist who crossed a Labrador retriever with a curly-coated retriever. He got a lab coat retriever!

Man, sometimes I even crack myself up. Here I am R-O-T-F-L:

Okay--R-O-T-B-L. But my head's on the floor.

I haven't thought about laughing--or making others laugh--for a long time. But a few days of living back in civilization took most of the edge off and started the ol' joy juice flowing again.

Every now and then if I sense someone's being way too serious and my jokes fall flat, I'll have to resort to something less traditional. Sight gags often save the day. For instance I might go get the English muffins off of the kitchen counter and put them in my bed:

That usually does the trick. If not . . . well, I'll sit on your chest until you at least grin a little:

I'll close with this story from my old stand-up days:

A burglar breaks into a house one night. He shines his flashlight around, searching for valuables, and when he picks up a CD player, he hears a loud voice say, "Jesus is watching you."

He nearly jumps out of his skin, clicks his flashlight off, and freezes in his tracks. When he hears nothing more for a while, he shakes his head, turns the light back on, puts the CD player in his sack, and begins looking for more loot.

Just as he pulls the TV out from the wall so he can disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he hears it again: "Jesus is watching you." Totally rattled, he shines his light around, looking for the source of the voice.

Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam comes to rest on a parrot in a cage. "Did you say that?" he hisses at the parrot.

"Yes," the parrot replies. "I'm just trying to warn you."

The burglar breathes a big sigh of relief. "Warn me, huh?" he asks. "Who do you think you are, you little twerp?"

"Moses," the bird tells him.

"Moses?" the burglar asks. "What kind of people would name a parrot 'Moses'?"

"The same kind that would name a Rottweiler 'Jesus'!"