Sunday, September 17, 2017
My first experience with a hurricane
2:26 PM | 
Posted by
Bruny Hudson |
By Wylie Hudson
We all came through Hurricane Irma without many problems. In
fact, I did it in style, having finally gotten my wish to sleep on the big bed.
The night Irma paid us a visit, my parents, my kitty
siblings and Hobo and I hunkered down in the master bedroom. We all went to bed
around 10 p.m., and by then, the wind had already picked up speed.
Mom sat down on the bed, and before she could say anything,
I mustered all the strength I have in my legs, and with one jump, I landed next
to her. To my surprise, she didn’t shoo me down and instead hugged me and told
me I could stay. I snuggled up to Mom, then turned over to Dad and then found a
comfortable place between them. But not before I pushed Mom to the edge of the
bed so that she had to hold on to me to keep from falling onto the floor.
While Hobo kept sleeping in his own bed, Thomas and Tiger,
my kitty brothers, joined us on the big bed. And then, my kitty sister, Sabrina,
jumped on it and walked around and around asking again and again if everybody
was comfortable. She did that for about an hour until she settled down
somewhere when we lost electricity and our night light went out.
By that time, the wind was gusting at full force and lashing
at the house. One time during the night, I heard a couple of loud bangs, and it
turned out to be part of our fence that the storm had knocked down. The wind
had also toppled our three papaya trees. We woke up to a dark and warm house, which
would feel like an oven for the following two days, but everything else was OK.
All in all, and I think I can talk for everybody, it was a
sleepover of which we’ll have fond memories.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Be careful what you wish for
By Wylie Hudson
I wish I’d known the meaning of the saying: “Be careful what you wish for” earlier. I would have been less tempted to pine for Hobo’s diet canned food. As is it, I got my wish but the hard way.
I had to get sick myself before someone finally offered me a similar food to what Hobo is eating nowadays. I woke up Saturday morning, not feeling well at all. Mom took one look at me and knew something was wrong. She said she could see it on my face. And she was right. I didn’t eat my breakfast and didn’t even touch a treat.
Now, Hobo can sometimes be cautious with his food, especially when he thinks it’s tainted with drugs, but I gobble down everything in front of me that looks edible without hesitation. So, Mom didn’t waste a second when I turned my nose away from the food, and off we went to the clinic.
The vet didn’t find anything alarming apart from my temperature which was a tad elevated. He gave me a few injections and then offered me something to eat. OMD, I thought, that smelled and looked almost like Hobo’s food, and I scarfed it all down and licked the bowl clean.
We went back home with a bag full of canned food for me and some pills for nausea. I didn’t need to take the pills and happily started to eat on my new diet. I feel better again but still a little bit sluggish.
This was certainly not the way I wanted to get meals similar to Hobo’s. I’d rather stick with my usual dry food than being sick.
Labels:
dog food,
dog treats,
dogs,
loss of appetite,
pet care,
pet health
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Thursday, August 10, 2017
Recuperating takes time
By Hobo Hudson
I guess having been living together with cats almost all my life, I acquired their peculiarity of having nine lives. I don’t know how many I’ve used up already and for how many my last health scare counts, but it surely was a roller coaster ride.
A week after my kidney treatments at the vet’s clinic, I
ended up at the clinic again. As before, I had stopped eating, and as before,
without ado, Mom had hauled me to the vet. This time, I had a slight fever. The
vet kept me for observation and gave me injections to bring my temperature and my
nausea down. A couple of hours later, I
asked him for some of the sandwich he was eating, and not wanting to share it
with me, he called my parents to pick me up and feed me at home.
I took a bite or two of the food Dad served me. This wasn’t
anything like the meat I smelled earlier that was in the vet’s sandwich. On the
contrary, this was the slop that came out of a can and made up my new, strict diet.
I told Dad he could have the rest of my canned food. Dad wasn’t happy about it,
and neither was Mom.
The next morning, I chomped down my diet food. My thinking
was that it would be unfair to upset Mom and Dad even more by my refusing to
eat than they already were. The food wasn’t really all that bad. In fact, my
doggy brother, Wylie, and my kitty sister, Sabrina, said it was excellent while
they were trying to steal it from under my nose.
But the main reason I chomped it down was because I was suddenly
hungry. Dad couldn’t have slipped an appetite-boosting pill into my mouth
without me knowing it, could he?
Anyway, I’m on high alert now for anything that I swallow to
make sure it’s not drugged. Otherwise, I’m eating more or less regularly again,
but my appetite isn’t what it used to be. I think gobbling down a big, juicy
steak for a few days at dinner would bring back my passion for food in no time.
Labels:
Cats,
dog food,
dogs,
kidney failure,
loss of appetite,
pet care,
pet health
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Sunday, July 30, 2017
Retirement comes with unexpected surprises
By Hobo Hudson
Wow, I had another close call and suffered from a health
problem due to old age. It crept up on me like the pancreatitis last year and
then made its sudden appearance by giving me nausea. I quit eating from one day
to the next. It was a red flag for my parents, and without waiting to see if I got
my appetite back, they took me to the vet. A blood test showed that I had
kidney failure.
For two days, I spent most of my time at the vet clinic having
my kidneys flushed out. Mom took me there early in the morning, and Mom and Dad
picked me up late in the afternoon. Even though I received excellent care from
the doctor and the staff at the clinic, I hated to stay there and wasted what
could have been a productive day at home. Despite being retired from the
corporate life, I’m a busy dog and have important things to do.
I am back at home for good and trying to regain my strength.
My kidneys are working better again, but the bad part is: I have to follow
another diet. Last year, it was a low-fat diet—I loathed it—now, it’s an even
more restrictive diet, limited to special canned food for kidney problems. It
doesn’t do much for whetting my appetite, but I force myself to cram it down my
throat.
To make matters worse, the vet prescribed antibiotics for me
to take. All my explaining that I don’t do drugs is like talking to a brick
wall, and Dad has been determined to spurt liquid medicine into my mouth. So
far, I have let him win our fight twice a day, but I have the feeling by the
time the bottle of antibiotics is empty, I’ll be the winner.
Labels:
dog food,
dogs,
dogs. pet care,
kidney failure,
pancreatitis,
pet health
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Thursday, February 16, 2017
Accepting applications
By Hobo Hudson
When I ran across the fashion sample while perusing the
business section of our newspaper, I knew it would be right up my alley. Even
though it isn’t one of the designer’s trademarks that caught my eyes, it
kindled my entrepreneurial spirit.
My jeans business, before I sold it to a British company,
had been such a hit among the young folks that I’m sure this new line of
fashion will follow suit. And the best part is, I would go back using the same
kind of crew that I have experience with and that made my former business a
success: cats.
Now, I already hear some of you ask: But what about all the
headaches they gave you and the strikes they organized while they had been in your
employment?
Well, I doubt it will happen this time. The care package for
my employees will be to their satisfaction, and since there will be no shortage
of cats eager to work for me, I’m sure the one who will stay employed won’t
stir up trouble.
But now to the job description. The work would entail
roughing up the edges of human garments. I haven’t quite decided yet on the
wardrobe I will offer, but it will include any kind of pants, shirts, blouses
and maybe skirts and dresses. Later, I might expand my line to home decoration,
such as blankets, bed linens curtains, and so on.
In the meanwhile, I’m taking applications from any cat
interested in the job. I’m not discriminating, but cats who have been declawed
won’t be able to do the ripping of the material, at least not to my liking. They
can, however, apply for the less challenging job of flattening and evening up
the ripped hemlines.
To give you an idea of what I have in mind, I include my own
fashion sample my kitty sister and retired foreman, Pogo, was kind enough to do
for me.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
How to outtwitter the president
Satire
As my readers know, I am the richest dog in my small town and have a reputation of almost never making a mistake in the bone market. However, I have been losing my tail recently. It seems that every time I make an investment, the stock suddenly starts to fall.
I have been racking my brain trying to determine the cause and have finally decided that my misfortune is due to our new president’s Twitter account. He suddenly tweets that he’ll do something or other and certain stocks rise in reaction. Five minutes later, he tweets the exact opposite and the same stocks fall.
While mulling over my problem, I decided to take a walk around my backyard, and a no-see-um landed on my nose. The little guy was so tiny you could barely see him, and I immediately decided he would be the perfect spy to report what our new president was thinking, and so I made a deal with him to fly over to Mar-a-Lago and crawl into our president’s ear then tunnel into his brain and report what the guy was really thinking.
This plan went awry when I received an email saying both ears were filled with concrete and it was impossible for anything to get through into his brain. I returned the email with a suggestion that he enter by crawling around his eyeball and try to enter via the optic nerve. The return email told me the eyes were blocked with a rusty old pair of steel shutters with a tiny hole in the center of the right eye shutter that was too small for even him to squeeze through.
After learning all this, I concluded the guy was operating on very old information and it would be impossible to predict what he will say next and, therefore, I am selling all my investments and will keep my assets in bones until he has operations to remove the concrete and shutters so that he will be able to receive and process new information.
By Hobo Hudson
As my readers know, I am the richest dog in my small town and have a reputation of almost never making a mistake in the bone market. However, I have been losing my tail recently. It seems that every time I make an investment, the stock suddenly starts to fall.
I have been racking my brain trying to determine the cause and have finally decided that my misfortune is due to our new president’s Twitter account. He suddenly tweets that he’ll do something or other and certain stocks rise in reaction. Five minutes later, he tweets the exact opposite and the same stocks fall.
While mulling over my problem, I decided to take a walk around my backyard, and a no-see-um landed on my nose. The little guy was so tiny you could barely see him, and I immediately decided he would be the perfect spy to report what our new president was thinking, and so I made a deal with him to fly over to Mar-a-Lago and crawl into our president’s ear then tunnel into his brain and report what the guy was really thinking.
This plan went awry when I received an email saying both ears were filled with concrete and it was impossible for anything to get through into his brain. I returned the email with a suggestion that he enter by crawling around his eyeball and try to enter via the optic nerve. The return email told me the eyes were blocked with a rusty old pair of steel shutters with a tiny hole in the center of the right eye shutter that was too small for even him to squeeze through.
After learning all this, I concluded the guy was operating on very old information and it would be impossible to predict what he will say next and, therefore, I am selling all my investments and will keep my assets in bones until he has operations to remove the concrete and shutters so that he will be able to receive and process new information.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
I have a new job
By Hobo Hudson
The extra perks I enjoyed as a well-known business dog were
the exclusive meals I shared with friends and business partners. During that
time, I developed a taste for fine and rich food and special drinks, and I
nurtured it after my retirement from the business world. It gave me energy and
made my life in old age so much more enjoyable.
Then, all hell broke loose. Now, after my first and I hope only
bout with pancreatitis, my mom and dad are strictly following my doctor’s
orders and have barred me from my beloved high-fat food. In exchange, they put
me on a very low-fat diet, and it’s for the birds.
What does my doctor know about what makes me happy and
productive? I’m still a working dog, and with four cats inside the house, work
never ends. And that led me to a brainstorm and the perfect solution for my troubles.
I took on the job of a janitor. Now, I’m not just any
janitor, I’m the dog who cleans up after the cats. But mind you, I don’t touch
and tackle their bathrooms. That’s exclusively my mom’s job. I take care of the
cats’ dining room. I watch my cat siblings like a hawk when they’re eating
their meals and desserts from a room away, and as soon as they’re finished, I
come running and do the cleanup. You wouldn’t believe what a mess they leave behind,
and I’m always more than eager to make sure there’s not a single crumb of any
kibble left on the floor. I’m very meticulous at my new job.
Being a cats’ janitor is very rewarding and fulfilling. I can recommend the job to any of my doggy
friends who are on a restrictive diet or want to earn some extra kibbles.
Monday, December 19, 2016
A surprise visit
By Sabrina Hudson
OMC, how proud I am. I had a visitor at home, someone who
just wanted to say hello to me and see how I was doing. Me alone. Something
like this has never happened to any of my kitty or doggy siblings.
Let me tell you: Yesterday afternoon, a friend of my parents
came by our home and asked if I was available for a visit. I was taking a nap
on Dad’s recliner, but when I heard the lady’s voice, I instantly recognized
her and jumped down to greet her. She was my guardian angel who fed me when I
showed up outside her fenced yard, hungry and homeless, and thus kept me alive.
She couldn’t offer me her home because she had dogs who didn’t like cats, but she
found an elderly lady next door who agreed to take me in. Unfortunately, the
health of my new caretaker deteriorated shortly afterward, making it impossible
for her to keep me.
I ended up on the streets again. That was when I met Hobo
and Wylie on their daily walks. I knew right away I wanted to move in with them,
and they, enamored with me, convinced their parents to adopt me. I tried to
follow them home right away, but my future doggy brothers were afraid it was
too long a walk for a little kitty like me. They promised me to have someone
sent with a pet carrier, pick me up and deliver me to their home.
The person who shoved me into the pet carrier after a fierce
struggle was my guardian angel. She’d also packed a bowl of canned food inside
the carrier, and the smell instantly calmed me down. By the time I arrived at
my new home, I’d eaten all the food, and I was full and happy. Ever since then,
I don’t mind the pet carrier, and I’m the only cat in the family who doesn’t
make a fuss to go into it when it’s time for a vet consultation.
When my guardian angel visited me yesterday, she couldn’t
believe how grown-up and beautiful I am now. Quite a difference from the
scrawny little thing she kept alive and helped to find a forever home.
Thursday, December 15, 2016
A book review of Foley Monster’s book “Tails from Rainbow Bridge”
By Hobo Hudson
My former attorney and very good friend, Ms. Foley Monster, has proved herself a great and compassionate author. Her just published book “Tails from Rainbow Bridge” chronicles the lives of her friends who preceded or followed her crossing of the Rainbow Bridge. It tells about their earthly accomplishments, ventures and antics, about their defiance to heed the call to the afterlife and about their work and play when they finally reached their eternal destiny while Ms. Foley Monster’s own life and feats unroll.
Having been an attorney who has become a judge at the
Rainbow Bridge, Ms. Foley Monster used the acquired proficiency and diligence
in writing her book. She took on an enormous task researching her friends’
lives, conducting interviews, arranging the details and putting it all
together. And she did an outstanding job.
The book is fantastic, witty and sad, hilarious and
mournful, encouraging and forlorn, wise and poignant, honest and wishful, and
your paws will turn the pages as the stories about your fellow dogs come to
life. It inspires us pets to keep doing what we do best: taking care of our
parents in any way we can wherever we are.
The book also shows Ms. Foley Monster’s flair for artwork.
The front book cover, as well as the back cover, has a beautiful design and the
cutest picture of the author herself.
The book is available at amazon.com
Labels:
Book,
Book review,
dogs,
loss of a pet,
pet health,
pets,
Rainbow Bridge
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Monday, October 17, 2016
Letting the world go by …
By Hobo Hudson
Letting the world go by, and that’s not all I let happen after retirement. I let my health go by, too. I retired with the idea of easing up on my responsibilities and finding a hobby to relax, but instead, my life has remained as hectic as it was. My daily routine involves eating, sleeping, supervising Dad taking care of my vegetable and fruit production and my cafeteria for birds and squirrels in the backyard, dictating outlines of my new book to Mom, enforcing the contract I have with my cat siblings to supply me with a percentage of their treats, making sure the cats perform their sentry duty on the windowsill to the front yard, and protecting Mom, Dad and my doggy brother, Wylie, on our daily walks.
So, when I started feeling out of sorts, I attributed it to
stress. To make matters worse, Wylie, whom I had made partner to help me with
my busy schedule a while ago, had to undergo knee surgery and has been unable
to help. All the work fell on me, and never mind the vet saying fatty food had
most likely caused the pancreatitis I came down with, I say it was stress. While
I trust my vet with his diagnosis as long as he makes me feel better, I beg to
differ with his ordering me to go on a bland, low-fat diet because the mere
thought of it doesn’t make me feel good at all.
I had been healthy my whole life and never had to go to the
vet except for my annual examinations and vaccinations. I also could eat
whatever I wanted without suffering any ill effects. Of course, I threw up once
in a while, but it was never serious and was always a one-time affair. It
surely never cut down on my appetite. As far as I remember, I only had diarrhea
once or twice and it cleared up the same day.
Now, I had three surgeries, but they happened later in life
and were strictly age-related: a cataract surgery, which was an elective procedure,
and two skin surgeries to remove tags and growths, which usually appear with
old age. Maybe that should have been a warning and I should have known to rein
in my passion for rich food as I got older, but it never crossed my mind.
I know something was wrong when I lost my appetite and
couldn’t even stand the sight of food. I had to vomit a few times, and then the
worst started, the diarrhea. I can’t recall how many times Mom or Dad went
outside with me, and often, I couldn’t do anything even though I had an urge. During
the whole ordeal, I never felt weak or in pain, but the diarrhea didn’t ease
up, and I kept rejecting any kind of food.
Luckily, my vet found out right away that I was suffering
from pancreatitis, and after having been hooked up to an IV for several hours
three days in a row and having been medicated, I now feel better again. I was
hoping to celebrate my recovered health with a big juicy steak, but to my great
dismay, my favorite food will be off-limits for who knows how long.
Life isn’t fair. When I was a pup, I could eat steak three
times a day but couldn’t afford even a smell. Now that I can afford it, I can’t
eat it.
Labels:
birds,
Book,
Canine cataract,
Cats,
dogs,
pancreatitis,
pet care,
Pet food,
pet health,
skin surgery,
squirrels
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Thursday, February 25, 2016
My skin surgery
By Hobo Hudson
Early this week, I had surgery big time. The vet cut me open
in six places. He removed two tumors on my chest—which I hope will be
benign—one skin tag on my head, another one on my cheek and three on my back, two
of which he could reach with only one incision. I thanked him for it.
But that’s not all. While the vet had me on the operating
table, he also cleaned my teeth and found out that he needed to pull three of
them. Don’t think I’m toothless yet. I still have more than enough teeth left
to devour a nice juicy steak without any problems, only I have to wait a few
days for it to happen. I have to let the tooth extractions heal. My mom
commented that I have now lost my fish breath, and I guess it should make me
happy and let me forget about the pain.
But seriously, I feel pretty good, and considering that I
will be 16 years old in less than a month, I went through the whole affair like
a champ. While Mom and Dad had been worried sick about my surgery, I said to
the vet’s nurse who called the next day asking how I was doing, “What surgery?
I’m doing fine as usual.”
I didn’t tell her, though, how much I relish the special
treatment I receive at home while I recuperate. Mom and Dad shower me with
extra petting—hugs don’t work that well because of all the sutures I have—and extra
praise, and they even bought me gourmet doggy food. Of course, my doggy brother
and my kitty siblings are constantly on their paws to accommodate me in any way
they can, although I have to be on my toes while eating or Wylie will try to
steal my gourmet food.
Saturday, February 20, 2016
The Ruskin Doggy Band
By Wylie Hudson
I’ve decided to follow in my mom’s footsteps and become an artist. Not an author, though. I’m leaving the book writing to Mom and Hobo. I’m seeing myself more as a performer and thinking of becoming a musician.
Our neighbor Bongo, a huge black Labrador, and I are seriously considering to form the Ruskin Doggy Band. Every time we meet, we practice singing together, and it’s getting better and better. Bongo always sets the pitch and I tune in and from there on, lovely tones come pouring out of our mouths, all in perfect harmony. It sounds fantastic, and it just comes naturally to us.
Selling our music on the Internet will bring in a lot of
kibbles, I’m sure about it, and I’ll finally be known for something besides
being Hobo’s second paw. Our music might even become a bigger hit than Hobo’s
books.
I don’t know how, when and where we’ll do our first
recording, and I’m letting Hobo take care of it. He is more experienced in
entrepreneur stuff than Bongo and I. But we’re already giving out free passes
to the recording session. So, if you’re interested in seeing and hearing Bongo
and me perform our musical duet, email Hobo@pmail.com for a free ticket.
 |
| My friend and singing partner Bongo |
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About
- Bruny Hudson
- Bruny Hudson, manager and editor of Newsandtales.com, assists as a consultant with Hobo’s blog.
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