Saturday, October 31, 2015

The ghost squirrel

By Hobo Hudson

This is a true story—well, partly true—just in time for Halloween.

Dad had finished hanging a new wooden door one Halloween morning and noticed a few dents and gouges in the wood and decided to fill them in with DAP putty. After the putty had dried, he sanded the putty with one of those sanding sponges.

When he finished, he banged the sponge against his ladder to get the dust off and heard a hacking and coughing. Looking down, he saw a squirrel sitting on the bottom rung of his ladder all covered with white putty dust. Dad started laughing and said, “Fellow, you look like a ghost.”

The little squirrel turned, gazed at himself and said, “I do, don’t I? This would be a great Halloween costume if I could figure out a way to keep the dust from falling off until evening.”

Dad thought about it for a couple of minutes. Then, he ran inside the house and returned with a can of Mom’s hair spray and started spraying the little guy and told him not to move until the hair spray dried.

Ten minutes later, Dad figured the spray would be dry, and he asked the squirrel to walk around to see how it felt, but the little guy couldn’t move a muscle. Dad decided he must have overdone the spraying a tad, so he wet a rag with water and dish detergent and started scrubbing the little guy’s jaws. After much scrubbing, he finally got the jaws loosened but had run out of detergent.

Dad picked up the little guy and set him at the side of the front door and took off to buy more detergent but thought of a few other things he should buy while at the store. By the time he got home, he had forgotten why he went to the store in the first place and simply put the bag on the countertop for Mom to put away.

By evening, the little squirrel was becoming desperate, and as each trick or treater arrived at the front door, he would chitter, “HELP,” but the kids all laughed because they all thought he was a novelty decoration. 

The next day at dawn, Dad went outside to get the newspaper and saw the little fellow still at the same spot where he had put him. Realizing what he had done, he scooped him up and put him into some warm water to soak a bit. Then he gave him a good washing with the replenished detergent and dried him off thoroughly. The squirrel, now able to move and open his mouth again, drank some water and ate a few peanuts before scampering off, yelling over his shoulder, “This is the last time I fall for one of your hair brained ideas.”

We never saw the little guy again, but it must have been very traumatic because every Halloween since that time, we see a ghostly squirrel sitting on our door step chittering, “HELP.”
Sunday, October 25, 2015

I am Sabrina

By Sabrina Hudson

It’s been two months since Hobo and Wylie offered me a permanent place in their home. A few days ago, Hobo told me it’s time for me to introduce myself to his blog readers, now that I have become adapted to my new family after a rather bumpy start. 
Here, I sit gloating out of harm's way on the windowsill, looking through the window toward whence I came, the streets. But I wasn’t born a street cat. I’m much too fearless, daring and reckless, and I love people and dogs. Not so much other cats, which almost got me into deep trouble with my new mom who abhors fights among siblings. No doubt about it, I was the aggressor. Luckily, my kitty brother Thomas had a serious talk with me one night when nobody was listening, and he set me on the right path. I must say that guy is sooo patient, determined and laid-back, and he never gives up. Now, I even play with him once in a while. I still have some hang-ups about making friends with Tiger, my other kitty brother with whom I share the living quarters. But don’t let me get started on Pogo, my cat sister, who resides on the porch. I’d better leave that gripe for another post.

Since I moved into my new home, I’ve gained quite a bit of weight and look more and more like a little princess. Before, I was so skinny and scrawny looking that everybody thought I was a young kitten, but the vet Mom and Dad took me to right away said I was almost 2 years old. Mom and Dad would have found out by themselves that I was at least a teenager the moment they tried to give me medicine the vet had prescribed for an infection I had. I refused to take it, and despite having been frail, I growled and fought like a lion.    

After I stopped wasting my energy attacking my kitty siblings, I discovered a new passion: playing. I like to play with tennis balls, toys, teasers, scratching boxes and scratching pads and my doggy brothers’ tails. Hobo and Wylie are good sports about it, and Hobo jumps so nicely in the air when I catch his tail, only to wag it again and have me bat at it. Wylie just lets me play with his tail and then walks away when he has enough of my antics. 

I’m sure happy and grateful that Hobo and Wylie found me on their daily evening walks. But who wouldn’t have heard me talking and talking about meeting a guardian angel and wanting to have a safe home as I was running along the fence? Humans. They thought I was just a big talker, and while they provided me with some food and water outside the house I used to hang out at, they didn’t understand that I desperately needed help and shelter and wouldn’t survive much longer on the streets. Hobo and Wylie caught on to my pleadings right away, and they convinced their parents to adopt me.

I’d better close now. Hobo just told me to wind it up. For quite some time, he had planned writing about me himself, but he’s just too busy dictating his third book to Mom and supervising Dad with repairs around the house. He said my story is getting far too long and that blog posts have to be short. But this is all new to me, and I’m still learning, learning a lot of things. So, I’ll try to be more concise with my next story. That is if Hobo allows me to post again, and I’m sure he will.


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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