Several years ago, I was seeing a lovely, prim and proper elderly Southern lady for depression. I had started her on an antidepressant and asked if she had any side effects.

"Well, last night, I saw my dear poodle Prissy walking across the kitchen floor," she replied in her charming drawl. Puzzled, I asked if that was a problem.

"Doctor Orion. My poor poodle has been dead for years."

Oh.