Widdle Wabbits

A precious little girl walks into a pet shop and asks in the sweetest little lisp, "Excuthe me, mithter, do you keep widdle wabbits?"
As the shopkeeper's heart melts, he gets down on his knees so that he's on her level, and asks, "Do you want a widdle white wabbit or a thoft and fuwwy bwack wabbit or maybe one like that cute widdle bwown wabbit over there?"
She, in turn blushes, rocks on her heels, puts her hands on her knees, leans forward and says in a quiet voice, "I don't think my pet python weally gives a thit."

My four-year-old son, Shane, had been asking for a puppy for over a month, but his daddy kept saying, "No dogs! A dog will dig up the garden and chase the ducks and kill our rabbits. No dog, and that's final!"
Each night Shane prayed for a puppy, and each morning he was disappointed when there was no puppy waiting outside. I was peeling potatoes for dinner, and he was sitting on the floor at my feet asking for the thousandth time, "Why won't Daddy let me have a puppy?"
"Because they are a lot of trouble. Don't cry. Maybe Daddy will change his mind someday," I encouraged him.
"No, he won't, and I'll never have a puppy in a million years," Shane wailed.
I looked into his dirty, tear-streaked face. How could we deny him his one wish? So I said the words that were first spoken by Eve, "I know a way to make Daddy change his mind."
"Really?" Shane wiped away his tears and sniffed.
I handed him a potato. "Take this and carry it with you until it turns into a puppy," I whispered. "Never let it out of your sight for one minute. Keep it with you all the time, and on the third day, tie a string around it and drag it around the yard and see what happens!"
Shane grabbed the potato with both hands. "Mama, how do you make a potato into a puppy?" He turned it over and over in his little hands.
"Shh! It's a secret!" I whispered and sent him on his way.
"Lord, you know what a woman must do to keep peace in her home!" I prayed.
Shane faithfully carried his potato around for two days; he slept with it, bathed with it and talked to it.
On the third day I said to my husband, "We really should get a pet for Shane."
"What makes you think he needs a pet?" My husband leaned against the doorway.
"Well, he's been carrying a potato around with him for days. He calls it Wally and says it is his pet. He sleeps with it on his pillow, and right now he has a string tied to it and he's dragging it around the yard," I said.
"A potato?" my husband asked and looked out the window and watched Shane taking his potato for a walk.
"It will break his heart when the potato gets mushy and rots," I said and started getting out food for lunch. "Besides, every time I try to peel potatoes for dinner, Shane cries because he says I'm killing Wally's family."
"A potato?" my husband asked. "My son has a pet potato?"
"Well," I said shrugging, "you said he couldn't have a puppy. He was so disappointed, in his mind, he decided he had to have a pet..."
"That's crazy!" my husband said.
"Maybe you're right, but explain to me why he is dragging that potato around the yard on a string," I said.
My husband watched our son for a few more minutes. "I'll bring home a puppy tonight. I'll stop by the animal shelter after work. I guess a puppy can't be that much trouble," he sighed. "It's better than a potato."
That night Shane's daddy brought home a wiggling puppy and a pregnant white cat that he took pity on while he was at the shelter. Everyone was happy. My husband thought he'd saved his son from a nervous breakdown. Shane had a puppy, a cat and five kittens and believed his mother had magic powers that could change a potato into a puppy. And I was happy because I got my potato back and cooked it for dinner. Everything was perfect until one evening when I was cooking dinner, Shane tugged on my dress and asked, "Mama, do you think I could have a pony for my birthday?"
I looked into his sweet little face and said, "Well, first we have to take a watermelon..."