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 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:

My Photo
Bruny Hudson
Bruny Hudson, manager and editor of, assists as a consultant with Hobo’s blog.
View my complete profile
Powered by Blogger.