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.

Monday, March 18, 2013

The rabbit chasing club

By Hobo Hudson

I was busily dictating another story to Mom for my next book when Dad came bursting in the office waving a bill. “Hobo,” he yelled, “what’s this bill from something called The Rabbit Chasing Club entitled monthly dues for 500 bones?” “Oh yes, Dad. I’ve been meaning to mention it to you. I joined it last month but had enough bones on hand to pay the initiation fee, and they will be billing me monthly from now on.”

Licking his mouth, Dad asked, “When’s your next meeting? It’s been years since I had a good rabbit supper.” My hair began to bristle, and in horror, I screamed, “Eat a rabbit? Dad! We don’t catch them and eat them. We just chase them. The rabbits are members of the club too.”

Dad was a little non-plussed at this, so I went on to explain to him how our club works. We meet at 4 p.m. the first full moon of each month in the grassland close to the Little Manatee River. We always choose a different spot for each meeting, and one of the members brings two jars with colored balls. All of us dogs draw a ball, and then all the rabbits draw a ball from the other jar, and the dog and rabbit holding the same color ball will form a pair for the chase.

This past month, a jack rabbit named Pete and I made up a pair. Pete had really long legs and, dog, could that guy run. I finally caught up with him and plucked a hair out of his tail just before the knock-off horn blew at 5:30 p.m., and we both collapsed and rested for a while. When we recovered our breath, we walked back to our camp site, and he slunk away to join his chums while I joined my pals and proudly displayed the hair I captured.

All of us dogs who were holding a rabbit hair in their paws took turns recounting the chase and received loud bays of approval while the dogs without a secured  hair just sat with a hang dog look on their faces. When it was my turn, I modestly downplayed my achievement, saying that I had used a 10-second delay by watching Pete’s actions which showed me that he was relying on speed rather than tactics to elude me. I further told my doggy club members that I saw small rocks, knotted roots and deep potholes obstructing Pete’s path in front of him. Knowing Pete would turn to avoid them, all I had to do was to not follow his trail but instead head for the end of the bumpy stone path, and I would be in position to nail him.

Our club president interrupted me at that point and barked that no matter how I had accomplished the feat, I was still the only dog that had ever defeated Pete. Then, he took my rabbit hair and mounted it on a plaque for permanent display. At the same time, chortles erupted, coming from the rabbits’ meeting corner as the winning rabbits described how they had outwitted the “stupid dogs” by dodging and weaving and constantly changing directions. For some reason, Pete was noticeably silent.

While the sun had set and a full moon had arisen shortly before, we dogs took a moment to admire its reflection in the waters of the Little Manatee River, and our choir leader led us in a spirited rendition of “Baying at the Moon.” When we had finished howling our song, the rabbits joined our group and together, we lit a small bon fire for a cookout. Our guest chef this month was a little puggle named Kolchak, who arrived in his chef’s toque and carried trays filled with freshly cubed steak, sliced carrots and other covered-up goodies.  

Kolchak was a master in hosting the perfect cookout. After he placed the trays of food next to the fire, he jumped toward a palmetto plant and quickly chewed of the stems. Offering each of us one of the stems, he told us to spit a bit of steak or carrot onto it and hold it over the bon fire to roast the food. We had a lot of fun, and Kolchak kept an eye on everyone’s skewer to make sure nobody burnt the steak or the carrots.  

By the time we had eaten our fill, a wind had blown up, grabbing Kochak’s toque and hurling it toward the river. We all jumped up to chase it, and Pete redeemed himself by pouncing on it and holding it until Kolchak could scamper over and collect it. When Kolchak had firmly fastened the toque on his head, he unwrapped the other trays, revealing mouthwatering selections of dessert, and passed them around. There were “truffles” for us dogs and carrot cakes for the rabbits. The truffles were sooo delicious, and in just a few minutes, not a crumb was left. If you’d like to try them, just go to Kolchak’s recipe page and make your own.

After hearing about my great evening, Dad allowed as to it being a great investment and boxed up the bones to mail out right away.


Foley Monster and Pocket said...

Usually I would say the first rule of rabbit club is to not talk about rabbit club but I enjoyed your civilized sport and applaud it, and tip my tail for the plug for Kolchak



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, manager and editor of Newsandtales.com, assists as a consultant with Hobo’s blog.
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