Friday, July 6, 2018

A guilty conscience


By Wylie Hudson





Dear friends. My blog is a bit late this week because it was very difficult to write. I’m sure that you all think that because I am Hobo’s brother, my soul is lily pure as Hobo’s was, but this isn’t the case. I have a horrible secret vice, and it’s time to bare my soul. I am a Squirrel Chaser.

Hobo was always able to help me contain this evil urge, but, now that he’s gone, I find it breaking out more and more often. I was sitting quietly beside Mom on the sun deck a couple of evenings ago when one of the critters ran by me and tickled my nose with his tail and I was off like a shot.

When he saw this, he made a desperate leap for the top of the fence but his leap was a bit short, and he fell right into my waiting jaws. Just as I was about to snap my jaws shut, I heard a high pitched scream. WYLIEEEE, don’t you dare! I never knew you were a SQUIRREL CHASER!

This was my low point when I realized that I was becoming out of control and joined Squirrel Chasers Anonymous. This is helping somewhat, but it will take time. It does help to stand among my fellow addicts and say, “My name is Wylie and I am a Squirrel Chaser.” After a glance at my stop watch, I continue, “It’s been 18 minutes since I’ve chased a squirrel.” After a round of supportive barks from my fellow addicts, I sit back down and do feel better for a slightly longer time each day.

Wish me luck, my friends, because I’m going to need all the support I can get.



Tuesday, June 19, 2018

What would Hobo do?


By Wylie Hudson

 



Now that Hobo is gone, I’ve had to take over the job of minding Dad, which is a full-time job because he’s always coming up with some hairbrained idea of fixing something around the house.

Yesterday started as a normal day. Dad and I ate breakfast and took a little walk, but then, Dad announced he was going to replace the switch on Mom’s floor lamp so she wouldn’t have to hold a flashlight to read by any longer.

My heart sank on hearing this because Dad is not the handiest dad on the planet and I still remember the saga of his replacing the faucet on Mom’s laundry tub a couple of weeks ago, which is a story that is best left untold.

I walked over to have a look at the lamp. It had a round, heavy base with the electric wire entering it and a hollow pipe about 4 feet long attached and then a heavy light fixture screwed on the side near the top. The switch in question protruded through a hole in the top of the fixture and was attached to the socket.

Dad came out with a pair of pliers and unscrewed the nut holding the switch to the fixture after first unplugging it from the wall, and that’s where the problems began. He grabbed the light bulb and started to pull the socket out of the fixture, and it wouldn’t move!

He then took the bulb out and grabbed the socket with a pair of pliers and gave it a hard yank, but it only moved an inch or so. After sitting back and thinking the situation over, he decided the electric wire must be going through so many twists and turns when passing through the fixture base that friction wouldn’t allow it to slide.

The worst point was a sharp bend where the wire made a turn from the upright pipe into the fixture so Dad decided to unscrew the fixture and then feed the wire through a bit at a time. Simple, right? WRONG! The screws holding the fixture to the pipe had a square hole in the top, and Dad didn’t have a tool to fit. He took a small chisel and started trying to turn the screw by tapping the edge but couldn’t move it. I raised my head toward heaven and closed my eyes. Hobo, what do I do now, I asked. The answer came to me in a flash. Cut a slot across the top of the screw and use a flat blade screwdriver!  

When I suggested it to Dad, he thought it was a great idea and proceeded to get his Dremel out and make the cut. Naturally, the screws came right out, but he still couldn’t pull any slack. I then suggested that he reach up inside and cut the wires. This worked great, and he finally got the socket and switch out.

After a number of other missteps, he finally got the new switch and socket installed and he was ready to test his work. He turned the switch on, but nothing happened. I opined that it might work better if he plugged it in first. After that, it still didn’t work, and I asked if it would work better with a bulb in the socket. When he screwed in a bulb, it lit up so he was good to go, and the half-hour repair job only took about eight hours instead of the hour maximum it would take a normal dad to do the job.

He then picked up the lamp by the center of the pole to return it to Mom, and I noticed something odd on the bottom and asked Dad what it was. He laid the lamp on its side and peered at the bottom.

“Darn,” he said, “I forgot all about the little clamp on the wire that prevents the wire from being pulled loose if the wire is jerked.”

I again raised my head toward heaven and closed my eyes. “Hobo,” I said, “what do I do now?”

The answer came back in big blazing letters. BITE HIM! The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Dad’s hand with the middle finger extended so I reached out and took a bite. I guess I bit a little harder than I had intended because red water started pouring from both sides of his finger. It didn’t take Mom long to stop it, but she wasn’t too happy with the mess on her new carpet.

When we got up this morning, his finger was very swollen and he was crying about not being able to tackle the next repair job. At least, I’m safe for today while he just sits around and reads.



 
Sunday, December 3, 2017

Regal, but not welcomed


By Hobo Hudson


An unlikely guest visited my cafeteria last week. I felt honored that such a regal bird, a hawk, showed interest in the food I offer, but he must have received the wrong information of what is on the menu. I provide peanuts, corn and bird seed for my customers who are squirrels, ducks, pigeons and small birds.

Somehow, Mr. Hawk must have thought my customers were items on the menu. Luckily, none of them were around at the time of his visit, and I asked him in a stern barking to please leave my premises. He obliged and flew off grumbling that would be the last time he visited my cafeteria.
 
 
 
Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Collections for a high wall



By Sabrina Hudson


My kitty brothers, Thomas and Tiger, and I are going to build a wall, a high wall, a lovely wall, a very lovely and high wall. It will go up around our private domain to keep our doggy brother Wylie out of our bathrooms. He’s stealing our brown-tinted golden nuggets, and we cannot allow that.

I had a hard time convincing Thomas and Tiger to go for this outstanding, extremely outstanding project, but they finally agreed. Even my doggy brother Hobo is in on it, and so we have the best, the bestest consultant on our side. With his entrepreneurial flair and financial know-how, the wall will be an incredible master piece and the prototype of many more to come.

We haven’t decided yet on the design but have accepted an array of free professional samples, already put up, and are playing with numerous suggestions by renowned artists, also free of charge.

Any donation will be a well worthy contribution and will increase our own kibble fund so that we can start building the wall in earnest. We appreciate each payment sent to: hobo@pmail.com.



Sunday, September 17, 2017

My first experience with a hurricane


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.




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.
 
 


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.
 
 
 
 
Thursday, February 16, 2017

Accepting applications


By Hobo Hudson

 
The latest fashion upheaval pulled me back out of retirement. I just can’t resist the opportunity and am ready to jump right into the rat race after another fashion designer—I don’t want to name any names—lost out.

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

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



Books

About Hobo


This was Hobo Hudson, my doggy brother, a little terrier mix with black fur. He became famous after his first attempt at writing stories, which was an article published in the newsletter of our local animal shelter, the same shelter in which I ended up years later before Hobo and his parents adopted me. Hobo’s fame quickly spread as he made a name for himself as a business dog and an adventurer. To keep his memory alive, my three kitty siblings and I, Wylie Hudson, are continuing his blog. Our mom, the blog’s editor, is publishing a Hobo Hudson adventure in sequences on her website at: newsandtales.com


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Bruny Hudson
Bruny Hudson, manager and editor of Newsandtales.com, assists as a consultant with Hobo’s blog.
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