Dead Duck

A duck was Robert's favourite pet;
They paid a visit to the vet,
And, "I'm afraid," the good man said,
"Your duck's not poorly; he's quite dead!"

Bob cried, "No! It can't be so.
He swam and quacked one hour ago."
There must be something to be done,
Some other test that you could run."

The vet said that he had a minion
Who could give her esteemed opinion.
How Robert was amazed at that;
The colleague was a pussy-cat!

The feline doctor poked and purred
As she examined the 'sick' bird,
Then shook her head and gave a sigh;
No need to ask the reason why.

But Bob could still not be consoled,
Excessive grief had made him bold.
He wailed, "I really must be sure
That there's no hope of earthly cure."

So then the vet just trotted out
The one he said would leave no doubt,
And even stranger than before,
This expert was a labrador!

The dog soon saw he'd have no luck
At rousing the departed duck;
He gave his golden head a shake
Confirming there was no mistake.

And as poor Bob was grieving still,
He was presented with the bill.
"What's this?" cried Bob. "Don't be absurd!"
"Five hundred bucks for one dead bird!"

"I feel your pain," the vet replied,
"And though it hurts me deep inside,
My fee I waived, but then you bought
The CAT scan and the LAB Report!"