Monday, September 12, 2011

Doggy humor: Disaster at Towering Paper Mountain

By Hobo Hudson

Dear friends. I thought I’d better give you a bark with the inside story of last night’s disaster because I’m sure that you have already heard about it on the news and are curious as to what happened.

I traced the roots of this disaster back about 25 years to the time Mom and Dad built their dream house here in Ruskin. Dad was sitting in his recliner reading the morning paper when he saw an article he wanted to keep for future reference. Instead of clipping the article right away, he simply laid the newspaper on the floor with the idea of clipping the article later and putting it into his desk drawer. Needless to say, he never got around to following up on it.

As time went by, Dad found more and more articles he wanted to save and simply stacked the newspapers containing those articles on top of each other, building a cluttered pile. He soon got too busy to read all the stories in the newspaper he wanted to read every day and stacked the unread sections onto the pile also. When the mountain of newspapers grew to touch the ceiling, Dad started a new pile beside the first one and let it continue to grow.

By the time Dad had accumulated four newspaper piles, Mom put her foot down and would not allow Dad to start yet another one. Dad, being stubborn and set in his ways, dragged out his chain saw and cut a hole through the ceiling and the roof and kept on stacking newspapers by climbing a ladder outside the house and dropping the papers through the hole onto the top of the existing piles.

Soon, the newspaper piles grew so high above the house that Dad couldn’t throw far enough into the air to reach the top. Determined to keep the upper hand on the situation, Dad came up with the idea of devising an air cannon. He would stuff the newspapers into the cannon’s mouth, charge the cannon with compressed air and pull the trigger. Whoosh! The papers would fly to the top of one of the piles.

The first time I saw the towering piles of newspapers from the outside, clouds had obscured their top, and I had no idea how tall they were. However, on one clear day, I saw snow on the top and knew they had to be very high to have a cover of snow here in Florida. Mom kept warning me not to sleep near the piles when taking my naps in the living room because of the avalanche danger, but after six years, I had grown a bit complacent and had begun to sleep between the base of the mountain of newspapers and Dad’s chair.

Last night, it happened. I woke to a crushing weight on my body and couldn’t even move a toe. I heard fragments of cries which sounded like, “Where is he? Not under this chaotic wreckage. There’s no way any dog could have survived.” Then I heard a distant voice calling my name over and over again.

I mustered what breath I could and let out a weak yip. Luckily, Dad heard it and instantly, I felt air coming my way and weight lifted off my body as Dad frenziedly began digging me out of my papery grave.

When he finally got me out, I must have been unconscious because I woke to a voice saying, “Breathe, Hobo, breathe.”  When I began breathing on my own, someone removed the oxygen mask and another one stopped the chest compressions, and I was soon able to sit up and sip a few swallows of water. However, right now, I am still very sore, and I will have to spend a few days in the hospital for observation just to be sure I have no broken ribs.

Dad brought me my laptop this morning, so I can stay in communication with all my friends. He told me he has hired two dump trucks and a pay loader to haul off all the papers and a building contractor to repair the roof and ceiling afterward. I think my happy home will be back to normal in a few weeks until Dad gets another bright idea.



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:

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