One Sunday morning, the pastor noticed little Alex was staring up at the large plaque that hung in the foyer of the church.

The plaque was covered with names, and small American flags were mounted on either side of it.

The seven-year old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the pastor walked up, stood beside the boy, and said quietly, “Good morning Alex.” “Good morning pastor,” replied the young man, still focused on the plaque.

“Pastor McGhee, what is this?” Alex asked. “Well, son, it’s a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service.” Soberly, they stood together, staring at the large plaque.

Little Alex’s voice was barely audible when he asked, “Which service, the 9:00 o’clock or the 11:00 o’clock?”

A farmer named Muldoon lived alone in the Irish countryside except for a pet dog he doted on.

The dog finally died and Muldoon went to the parish priest, saying “Father, the dog is dead. Could you possibly be saying a mass for the poor creature?”

Father Patrick told the farmer “No, we can’t have services for an animal in the church, but I’ll tell you what, there’s a new denomination down the road apiece, and no telling what they believe in, but maybe they’ll do something for the animal.”

Muldoon said “I’ll go right now. By the way, do you think $50,000 is enough to donate for the service?”

Father Patrick replied “Why didn’t you tell me the dog was Catholic.”