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, 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.




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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