Gunther awoke to find that his beard was missing. He checked his chin thoroughly but the beard was not there. He couldn’t think where else to look.

Disconsolate, he wandered the house, weeping softly.

As he entered the kitchen he thought he saw his beard upon the floor. Excitedly he pulled his magnifying glass from his breast pocket and examined the object closer.

“What?” Harrumphed Henry the Dog, for it was he and not a beard at all. “Why the examination, old man? Are you concerned that the fleas may have returned?”

“No. I thought you were my beard is all.”

“Hoo! Your beard? I saw the chap leaving this morning.” Henry barked excitedly.

Just then the phone rang. Gunther snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello Gunther.” It was his beard. He recognised the voice immediately.

“Where in heavens are you?”

“Residing upon another man’s chin.”

“You treacherous whiskers!” He slumped to the floor, which was oddly damp.

“Don’t sit there, old bean!” Yipped Henry the Dog. “I have micturated excessively.”