Morty visits the veterinarian in Boca Raton and says, “My dog has a problem.”

The doctor replies, “So tell me about the dog’s problem.”

“First you should know, he’s a Jewish dog. His name is Irving and he can talk,” says Morty.

“He can talk?”, the doubtful doctor asks.

“Watch this!” Morty points to the dog and commands: “Irving, Fetch!”

Irving, the dog, begins to walk towards the door, then turns around and demands, “So why are you talking to me like that? You order me around like I’m nothing. And you only call me when you want something. And then you make me sleep on the floor, with my arthritis. You give me this fahkahkta food with all the salt and fat, and you tell me it’s a special diet. It tastes like dreck! YOU should eat it yourself! And do you ever take me for a decent walk? NO, it’s out of the house, a short pish, and right back home. Maybe if I could stretch out a little, the sciatica wouldn’t kill me so much! I should roll over and play dead for real for all you care!”

The Doctor is amazed. “This is remarkable!  What could be the problem?”

Morty says, “Obviously, he has a hearing problem! I said ‘Fetch,’ not Kvetch.”