One of those careers the nuns didn't tell me about

The lady at the chip shop is a bit stressed out at the moment because one of her dogs is pregnant and is being a bit snappily hormonal. "I wish I hadn't had her done now," she said.

She had dreamed of having lots of little baby doggies roaming round the house with mummy and daddy dog looking on in loving attendance. Unfortunately he wasn't much up to it so she had to arrange for her bitch to be artificially inseminated.

"Well, it was a couple of hundred pounds cheaper than having her serviced by another pedigree dog," she explained.
"Did they use a turkey baster?" asked Frog.
"Summat like," she replied.
"You mean to say that there are people going round being professional dog wankers?" I asked.
"Oh aye. That was the thing: I couldn't ask her that on the 'phone, could I? 'Hello, do you wank dogs?' I rang her up and I had to stop and think and in the end I said: 'Do you artificially inseminate dogs?' and she said: 'Well, not on my own; the dogs have something to do with it themselves.'"
"Bloody hell," said Frog.
"So I got my dog and took him round to her. 'Don't drag him across the floor!' she yelled at me. 'He's only got little legs he'll be no good with a blister on the end of it!' Not that he was much good anyway. An hour and a half it took her, just for a little teaspoonful."
"Didn't she give him a magazine to look at?"
"No, she should have done."
"That's something we need to bear in mind when they make us redundant," remarked Frog.
"What?" I asked, "Dog wankers?"
"It's a living. We could put adverts in newsagents' windows; 'Pet Owners! Does your pet need a wank? Call us now on...'"

The problem is that it's rather more dignified than the jobs we're doing at the moment.