An oldie but goodie.
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An out-of-towner drove his car into a ditch in a remote area. A local farmer saw him and came to help with his horse, Buddy. He hitched Buddy up to the car and yelled, “Pull, Nellie, pull!” Buddy didn’t move.
Then the farmer hollered, “Pull, Buster, pull!” Buddy didn’t respond.
Again the farmer commanded, “Pull, Coco, pull!” Still no response.
Then the farmer said, “Pull, Buddy, pull!” Buddy easily dragged the car out of the ditch.
The motorist was appreciative but curious. He asked the farmer why he called his horse by the wrong name three times.
The farmer replied, “Buddy is blind, and if he thought he was the only one pulling, he wouldn’t even try.”
Herbie was a regular visitor at the racetrack. One day he witnessed something unusual. Right before the first race, a Catholic priest visited one of the horses in the stable and blessed it. Herbie watched the race, and the horse the priest had blessed came in first.
Herbie followed the priest before the next race, and again he went to the stable and blessed another horse. Herbie bet a few dollars on the horse that the priest had blessed, and sure enough, it also came in first.
The priest continued the procedure through the next few races, and Herbie won each time by betting on whichever horse the priest had blessed. The system was working so well that between races Herbie ran to the bank and withdrew $10,000.
He got back just in time for the final race of the day. Once again he followed the priest and noted which horse received the blessing, then he went to the betting window and put his whole bundle on that horse to win.
Then Herbie went to watch the race, but this time the one he’d bet on came in last.
Herbie was crushed. He hunted down the priest and told him he’d been watching him all day, and all the horses he’d blessed had been winners except for the last one.
“What happened to that last horse?” asked Herbie. “Why didn’t it win like the others?”
The priest sighed. “You Protestants,” he said. “You can’t even tell the difference between a blessing and last rites!”
Three race horses in adjoining stalls were arguing over which of them was the best.
“Of my last sixteen races, I’ve won eleven,” said the first horse.
“Not bad,” said the second horse. “But of my last twenty races, I’ve won fifteen.”
“Impressive,” said the third horse. “But of my last twenty-eight races, I’ve won twenty-five.”
A greyhound who was lurking nearby overheard the horses arguing and decided to join the conversation.
“I don’t mean to brag,” said the greyhound, “but of my last forty-six races, I’ve won forty-four.”
The horses were clearly astonished. After a long silence, one of the horses said in an awestruck voice, “Wow! A talking dog!”