Joe was a reasonably happily married man had only and only had one complaint: his wife was always nursing sick birds and it seemed as if it was getting worse.
One November evening, he came home to find a raven with a splint on its beak sitting in his favorite chair. On the dining room table there was a feverish eagle pecking at an aspirin while in the kitchen his wife was comforting a shivering little wren that she found in the snow.
The furious spouse strode over to where his wife was toweling down the cold little bird. "I can't take it any more! We've got to get rid of all of these damned . . ."
The wife held up her hand to cut him off in mid-curse saying . "Please, dear," she said . . .
" . . . Not in front of the chilled wren."