Monday, June 4, 2012

Hoisted by my own petard

By Hobo Hudson

Today began like any other day. I woke up at the sound of Mom slipping out of bed to do her daily exercise program, and I immediately began the ordeal of trying to awaken Dad. As usual, barking and slapping his face with my paw had no effect, and I had to bite him on his big toe and start to drag him out of bed.

When I finally got him on his feet and staggering off to the kitchen to start the coffee, I settled back for a short snooze until I could smell the coffee aroma and hear Dad open the refrigerator. It was my cue to dash out of the bedroom and into the kitchen for my morning treats.

I counted all of them before I gobbled them down, and after barking a few instructions to Dad, I returned to bed for my post breakfast snooze. The moment I fell asleep and a nice juicy steak floated into my dreams, Dad’s hollering woke me up.

“Hobo, you’d better get out and check the farm. You’re not going to like it.”

Dad’s stern voice made me jump out of bed. When I trotted outside to the sundeck, I was flabbergasted. Charlene was sitting at the end of my farm supervising her gang of squirrels as they busily dug up every one of my young plants.

“Charlene,” I barked as I rushed to her side. “What the heck are you doing?”

She turned to me and said, “Good morning, Hobo. The thought hit me last night that we may have missed a few of the peanuts that you wanted dug up, so I’m having my crew re-dig the entire field to make sure we got all of them. By the way, TOM, I sure enjoy reading your farming stories on the Internet, especially the one in which you describe how you found help digging up your garden.”

“But Charlene,” I stammered. “You don’t have a computer, so how did you find out about my stories?”

“Oh, I just go down to the library and use the free computers,” she said, smiling at me.

Rats. I guess I’ll have to be more careful about what I bark from now on. You just never know who will be reading what you post on the internet.





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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 is the blog’s editor.

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