A favorite family joke is about the man who went on vacation and left his dog with his brother. While away he called his brother to ask about his dog.
“Your dog died,” said the brother.
“What?!!!,” replied the other brother. “You’re not supposed to just come out and tell me like that. The first night I call you’re supposed to say the dog is on the roof. The next time I call you’re supposed to tell me that the dog fell off the roof. The third night I call you tell me that the dog died. Got it?
“Got it.”
“Okay, good,” said the brother on vacation. “Ill call you tomorrow.”
The next day the vacationing brother calls and asks his brother, “So how is everything going?”
“Good,” says his brother, trying to make pleasant chit chat.
“And how is mom?”
“She’s on the roof.”
Today a work crew swooped in to re-roof the house behind my mother’s, while she nears death. My sisters and I looked at the roofers and then looked at each other.
“Mom’s almost on the roof,” we all said practically in unison, and laughed until we really cried.
