Hobo's blog

Hobo Hudson, business dog, author and farmer, shares his latest news and stories about his life and gives prudent advice to his fellow dogs, cats and other animals—humans included.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Doggy humor: Free at last

By Hobo Hudson

After having made my one phone call from jail and talked briefly with my attorney, Ms. Foley Monster, I was thrown into a large cell with about 30 drunks. When the iron door slammed shut, I let out a mighty howl that whooshed all across doggy land, and my friends began loping to my aid.

Without wasting time to worry about their own safety, two of my friends entered the jail with a hacksaw baked into a cake while another acted as lookout. It was a well intended effort but failed because I wasn’t tall enough to reach the window, and none of the drunks could stand straight long enough to lift me up.

About the time I received the cake, as I learned later, a large German shepherd arrived at my home with three small friends, and with the help of my kitty sisters, they wriggled their way into my office. The shepherd rapidly downloaded all my stories from my computer onto her flash drive and then removed my hard drive, replacing it with the one from her computer she had brought with her and copied all my stories onto the new hard drive. In the meanwhile, my three little friends were hard at work dragging all my papers and folders into the yard and putting them on a bonfire.

Inside my cell, I had just hidden the hacksaw in the pants’ leg of one of the drunks and was licking the last cake crumbs from my beard, when I heard a hullabaloo at the entrance of the jail. I peeked through the iron bars and saw Ms. Foley Monster dashing toward the cell, panting from her long run from Massachusetts.

“I’m here, Hobo,” she wheezed while she tried to catch her breath. “Don’t bark a sound until I talk with the federal attorney.” She turned around and trotted away, leaving me dumbstruck behind in the cell.

A short time later, however, the warden came, opened the cell door for me and led me to a conference room. Ms. Monster and the federal attorney were already sitting at the conference table across from each other, waiting for me to take a seat to discuss the matter.

Staring first at me and then at Ms. Monster, the federal attorney said, “We’re charging your client with human slavery, violating the Wage and Hour Act, and I’m trying to decide if the Rico Act applies.”

Ms. Monster cocked her head and asked, “What proof do you have of any of these charges?”

“Hobo admitted it when he was arrested,” the federal attorney replied.

Ms. Monster quickly snapped, “But he wasn’t given his Miranda rights, so anything he barked is inadmissible, and I’m sure he misunderstood the question.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” the federal attorney said. “I’m sure we’ll find plenty of evidence when we search his office.”

“Not without a warrant, you’re not and you can’t get a warrant without probable cause,” Ms. Monster replied in a bored bark.

Opening the folder in front of him and digging out a piece of paper, the federal attorney said, “We’ll get around this by having Hobo sign this form giving us permission to search his office. If he has nothing to hide, he shouldn’t mind signing it.”

Ms. Monster grabbed the paper and growled, “Let me read it first.”

While she was slowly reading the consent form and referring to her dictionary for the meaning of some of the words, her cell phone rang. She answered it immediately, and after a series of yip, yip, yipping, she grinned, turned the phone off and told me to go ahead and sign the consent form. I was a little hesitant about putting my paw print on it, but I was sure Ms. Monster knew what she was doing, and so I did it.

After the federal attorney had grabbed the paper I had signed and had stormed out with the file under his arm, Ms. Monster and I sat alone around the conference table, and she told me what my friends had done. I gave a deep sigh of relief for apparently having dodged the fallout of my big mouth, but most of all, I felt honored for having such great friends who stuck up for me and helped me far beyond the scope of friendship.

When the federal attorney returned a couple of hours later he said, “Hobo, I’m going to have to apologize. There was nothing incriminating in your office. I guess my men got a false tip.”

Thanks, all you guys and gals for the valiant effort you put forth to rescue me. I’ll never forget it, and I have sure learned to keep my barker shut in front of strangers.




My name is Hobo Hudson. I’ve always considered myself a terrier mix, and I’m going to leave it at that. I used to share my mom’s website writing about my life, but Mom’s stories somehow got in my way. So, I deemed it more appropriate to open my own blog, which also allows me to engage my siblings in writing posts if I’m running short on time. After all, I’m a busy dog. My mom helps me with my blog now and then, but I think it’s only to safeguard my good reputation. Her website, newsandtales.com, contains some great stories.
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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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