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.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Doggy humor: The refugees—Part 2

By Hobo Hudson

I wasn’t able to sleep a wink the night after my encounter with the refugee squirrels knowing that so many other squirrels were in danger of dying because of the draught to the east of us. Determined to take action, I got out of bed before daybreak, and without waking Mom or Dad, I slinked into the kitchen.

After gulping down a few kibbles, I threw a pawful of treats and my PayPaw credit card into my backpack and ever so quietly slipped out of the house through the garage. Pulling my little red wagon behind me, I loped off to Walmart, where I filled my wagon with bags of squirrel food and a couple of cases of bottled water and started tugging it along the way to the east.

As soon as I passed our local airport, I began seeing small families of squirrels slowly making their way to the west or slumped on the ground too exhausted to trek any further. Each time I met a group, I stopped and doled out a small pawful of food to each squirrel plus one bottle of water per group and encouraged the ambulatory groups to keep walking, telling them there are better lands ahead. To the squirrels lying exhausted on the ground I made the promise to pick them up on my return trip and told them to be patient and rest for now.

I continued trotting eastward and helping as many squirrels as I could until I ran out of the supply of food and water I had bought at Walmart. After taking a short break, I turned around and began walking toward home, picking up the worn-out and frail squirrels along my way who thanked me with a sigh of relief for the ride I offered them in my little red wagon.

As I neared home, I spied a tract of land covered with large oak trees and acorns lying all over the ground. There was a creek running slowly through it and also a large plot of plain soil. Thinking this would be an ideal home for the refugees I had picked up on the way, I stopped to let them clamber out of my wagon. Before they hobbled off and began collecting acorns and slurping water from the creek, they thanked me again for all my help.

When I arrived home, Dad was standing at the front door waiting for me. He wasn’t too happy that I had left all by myself and hadn’t even told Mom or him where I wanted to go. I explained what I had been doing and that it had been a spur of the moment deal. Hearing about my helping the poor squirrels appeased Dad, and he said he wouldn’t punish me this time because my actions spoke for themselves and wouldn’t need any more explanations.

Pleased with myself, I followed Dad into the office and handed him my receipts from Walmart so that he could deduct them on my income tax return as a charitable expense. However, Dad explained that my expenditure for a good deed, although admirable, wasn’t deductable because it was direct from dog to squirrel. He further said that if I wanted to really help the squirrels, I should set up a qualified organization under IRC Sec. 501(c) (3). That way, all my expenses would be deductable plus I could accept donations from any dog that would like to support my mission.

I immediately got on the phone with my attorney, Ms. Foley Monster, and requested her help. I knew the law was somewhat tricky and I would need professional assistance to insure I complied with all the rules when setting up an organization like Dad suggested.

Ms. Foley Monster agreed to set the entity up pro bono and assured me it would be legal or almost legal, depending upon how many folitinis she consumed while drafting the paperwork. Since her answer sounded pretty good, I told her to go ahead but I wanted her partner and sister, Dr. Pocket, to sit by her side to insure she stayed off the sauce until she had completed the assignment.

After having made the agreement with my attorney and got off the phone, I asked Dad to drive me in his car to locate the owner of the land where I had left the squirrel refugees earlier. It didn’t take us long to find him, and I discovered him to be a very old dog, lolling on his porch gumming a dog bone.

As I approached him and sat down in front of him, he looked up at me, clutching the bone with his paws, and pricked his ears when I explained what I wanted to do. He smiled and started telling me stories of his youth and all the fun he used to have chasing squirrels. Pointing his nose far out and nodding his head, he explained there was about 15 acres of oak trees plus about 5 acres of cleared farmland and he had never known the creek to run dry.

He agreed to let me use the land free until I completed the paperwork and would then sign a long-term lease with the sanctuary stipulating the monthly rent to be $1,000 but would waive it on a month-to-month basis. That way, he said he could receive a tax deduction for the value of the rent. I thought things couldn’t get any better than this, so I quickly agreed.

To be continued





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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