The New Yorker, March 10, 1945 P. 17
A woman stepped up to the meat counter in the Peter Reeves Market on West Eight Street the other day and asked the butcher if he had any chopped steak. He shook his head. She asked if he had any calves' liver. He shook his head again. "Damn it!" the woman said. "What in the world am I going to feed my dog?" the butcher thought for a moment then said, "Lady, all I can suggest is another dog."