Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Doggy humor: The rabbit hunt

By Hobo Hudson

I woke up this morning with my nose twitching as I detected the delicious aroma of steak wafting through the air and trotted out to the kitchen to be sure of getting my share. Dad looked down at me and said, “Just a minute, Hobo, while I fry you an egg. You need to eat a big breakfast because we’re going rabbit hunting today.” Throwing my head up toward Dad, I gazed at him with big eyes, and my tail started wagging so fast I was afraid it would fall off.

When Dad set my plate in front of me, I quickly gobbled down everything on it and raced to the front door to hurry Dad along. We piled into Dad’s car and began driving far, far away into an area I had never been. I had my nose glued to the open crack in the window so that I could detect the first whiff of a rabbit and, finally, it came. I gave Dad a quick bark to stop. When Dad opened the door, I jumped out with Dad on my heels.

“There, Dad,” I whispered. “Do you see him behind that bush?” “I see him,” Dad replied, “but the ditch is too wide to cross, so we’ll have to find another rabbit.” “Oh yeah? You just watch me,” I barked as my rear legs coiled and I gave a mighty leap, soaring over the ditch on a direct line toward the rabbit.

However, just before landing, the rabbit took off as though his tail was on fire, and I began following as soon as I touched down. He led me on a merry chase all over the pasture until I finally cornered him in a small patch of brush. I opened my mouth to grab him and launched myself the few remaining feet but instead of my toppling him, he broke back the way he had come, and I ended up with a mouthful of dust.

While spitting and sputtering to cleanse my mouth, I heard Dad calling from far away, “Hobo, he’s coming back my way, hurry,” and I began chasing the rabbit back toward Dad.

When I got near Dad, I heard him asking, “Hobo, are you dreaming about chasing a rabbit? You’ve been barking in your sleep, and your legs have been moving all over the place. Calm down so I can sleep.”
Thursday, October 6, 2011

Doggy humor: I fixed Blondie

By Hobo Hudson

That darn cat Blondie has been a thorn in my tail ever since she quit her job as my cafeteria manager when I hired Thomas. She immediately packed her bags with all her toys, catnip and meow mix and moved from the porch into the house with me.

Without Blondie being aware of it, I spied on her and knew that she hid all her toys way back under Dad’s desk. Of course, I didn’t want them after a cat slobbered all over them but as they say, knowledge is power. She has been flirting with Dad the last few days, and I’ve had to have several rather sharp barks with her about it. Each time, she apologized and promised she wouldn’t do it again.

I hit my limit this morning when I staggered out of my bedroom and found Blondie on Dad’s lap giving him a tummy massage. Dad was just sitting there in his recliner with a blissful look on his face as though he was enjoying it. I just bided my time while I planned my revenge. 

After Dad and I had made our morning inspection of our farm in the back yard, Dad walked outside the front door to pick up the newspaper from the driveway and then went into his office to sit down at the computer. As usual, he laid his tobacco pouch on his desk, and when he got back up from his chair and went into the kitchen to fetch a cup of coffee, I made my move.

I jumped on Dad’s desk, grabbed the tobacco pouch and hid it under his desk mingled in Blondie’s toy stash. After Dad came back with his coffee and pipe and sat back down at the desk, he reached for his tobacco pouch, and it wasn’t there.

Dad didn’t think anything of the pouch not being there—just assumed he had left it by his recliner in the living room, but when he checked, it wasn’t there either. Knowing that he’s getting pretty absent-minded, he tried to recall everywhere he had been and began retracing his steps. He walked to every place and corner in the house he could remember being and then took a tour of the back yard and the front yard—but no tobacco pouch.

Lying on my ottoman, I watched Dad going back and forth and tried to keep from snickering. Dad finally asked Mom to help him search for his tobacco pouch, and looking all over for it, Mom couldn’t find it either. After they had both given up their search and sat down in the living room for a moment, Dad said he needed to go to the store to buy a few things. He went into the kitchen and grabbed his large can of tobacco. He tied a string around it, hung it around his neck like a necklace and headed toward the front door. Mom, staring at him in disbelief and suddenly realizing what he was going to do, screamed, “No, you can’t go out like that! People will think you’ve lost your mind.”

Dad, turning toward her, calmly replied that he wasn’t leaving the house without his pipe and tobacco and couldn’t carry the tobacco in his hand the whole trip, and he would just tell everyone he saw that it was a new style of bling.

Franticly trying to prevent Dad from leaving the house the way he looked, Mom begged him to sit down for a few minutes while she would check each room again for the tobacco pouch. Dad mumbled something I couldn’t hear, but he waited, and Mom quickly started another room search. This time, I walked into Dad’s office with her and innocently asked if she had looked for the pouch toward the very end under Dad’s desk. Mom crouched down with a flashlight, and there it was along with the rest of Blondie’s toys.

She fished it out with a ruler and gave it to Dad, explaining where she had found it, and Dad gave Blondie a really dirty look. Now, Blondie is in the cathouse and I’m riding high as master of my domain again. Don’t anyone tell Dad about it.
Sunday, October 2, 2011

Doggy humor: The great Florida gold rush

By Hobo Hudson

I was peacefully snoozing in my day bed in the corner of the living room this morning when I heard Dad scream at Mom that he had lost his ring, and I jumped up fully awake and ready to go find it.

I knew the only ring Dad has is his wedding ring, and it’s made of gold. I was also aware that gold has soared in value recently and, if I could find the ring, I was sure I could swap it for a lot of treats.

Eager to start my search, I innocently barked, “Gee, Dad, do you have any idea as to where you might have lost it?”

“No Hobo,” Dad replied. “I’m sure it was right here on my telephone the last time I looked.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad. I’m sure it will turn up pretty soon. By the way, what were you doing this morning while I took my nap?” I asked.

Dad replied that he had spent most of the morning outside helping Charlene, my squirrel sharecropper, harvest her peanuts and making sure I got my half. When he came in to the house afterwards, he said, he washed his hands in the kitchen sink and dried them on a paper towel.

I pricked my ears hearing the promising lead. There was a good chance that when Dad dried his hands, the ring slipped off his finger and was now wrapped in the paper towel in the trash bag. Needing to distract Dad and get him out of the house, I barked that he had to take a piece of board outside and paint it before it starts to rain, and we would look for the ring when he was finished.

As soon as Dad went out of the door, I dragged the trash bag into the living room and proceeded to go through the contents item by item and tear any possible ring holders into tiny pieces to be sure the ring wasn’t hidden in a corner. Just as I was almost finished, Mom came into the living room and saw me working. She shrieked so loud it hurt my ears, and dashing toward me, she hollered, “Hobo, what do you think you’re doing?”

I looked up and growled, “Back off, Mom. This is my gold mine and no claim jumpers are allowed.”

Stepping backward, Mom looked puzzled and asked, “Why do you think there’s any gold in my kitchen trash?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Mom,” I barked. “I heard Dad tell you he’s lost his ring, and I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”

With a funny look on her face, Mom stared at me. Then she started to laugh and said, “Hobo, you heard Dad wrong when he said he lost his ring. He didn’t lose his wedding ring. He lost the ringer on the telephone. I’m going to fix it in just a minute.”

My fur sure turned red when I heard Mom’s explanation. I guess I had it coming by jumping to conclusions before having all the facts. It made me feel ashamed and foolish as well as guilty. I’ve got a lot of apologizing and fence mending to do. Not only did I jump to conclusions but I let my love of treats go to my head and put them in front of my love for Mom and Dad. I should have let Mom help me hunt for Dad’s ring and then planned to give it to him when we found it without thought of reward.


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 doggy sister, 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. Click on: Foreign Business Affairs, and enjoy a different kind of pet story that combines suspense, lightheartedness and quirk.

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