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, December 29, 2016

I have a new job



By Hobo Hudson

The extra perks I enjoyed as a well-known business dog were the exclusive meals I shared with friends and business partners. During that time, I developed a taste for fine and rich food and special drinks, and I nurtured it after my retirement from the business world. It gave me energy and made my life in old age so much more enjoyable.   

Then, all hell broke loose. Now, after my first and I hope only bout with pancreatitis, my mom and dad are strictly following my doctor’s orders and have barred me from my beloved high-fat food. In exchange, they put me on a very low-fat diet, and it’s for the birds.

What does my doctor know about what makes me happy and productive? I’m still a working dog, and with four cats inside the house, work never ends. And that led me to a brainstorm and the perfect solution for my troubles.

I took on the job of a janitor. Now, I’m not just any janitor, I’m the dog who cleans up after the cats. But mind you, I don’t touch and tackle their bathrooms. That’s exclusively my mom’s job. I take care of the cats’ dining room. I watch my cat siblings like a hawk when they’re eating their meals and desserts from a room away, and as soon as they’re finished, I come running and do the cleanup. You wouldn’t believe what a mess they leave behind, and I’m always more than eager to make sure there’s not a single crumb of any kibble left on the floor. I’m very meticulous at my new job.

Being a cats’ janitor is very rewarding and fulfilling. I can recommend the job to any of my doggy friends who are on a restrictive diet or want to earn some extra kibbles.





 
Monday, December 19, 2016

A surprise visit


By Sabrina Hudson






OMC, how proud I am. I had a visitor at home, someone who just wanted to say hello to me and see how I was doing. Me alone. Something like this has never happened to any of my kitty or doggy siblings.

Let me tell you: Yesterday afternoon, a friend of my parents came by our home and asked if I was available for a visit. I was taking a nap on Dad’s recliner, but when I heard the lady’s voice, I instantly recognized her and jumped down to greet her. She was my guardian angel who fed me when I showed up outside her fenced yard, hungry and homeless, and thus kept me alive. She couldn’t offer me her home because she had dogs who didn’t like cats, but she found an elderly lady next door who agreed to take me in. Unfortunately, the health of my new caretaker deteriorated shortly afterward, making it impossible for her to keep me.

I ended up on the streets again. That was when I met Hobo and Wylie on their daily walks. I knew right away I wanted to move in with them, and they, enamored with me, convinced their parents to adopt me. I tried to follow them home right away, but my future doggy brothers were afraid it was too long a walk for a little kitty like me. They promised me to have someone sent with a pet carrier, pick me up and deliver me to their home.

The person who shoved me into the pet carrier after a fierce struggle was my guardian angel. She’d also packed a bowl of canned food inside the carrier, and the smell instantly calmed me down. By the time I arrived at my new home, I’d eaten all the food, and I was full and happy. Ever since then, I don’t mind the pet carrier, and I’m the only cat in the family who doesn’t make a fuss to go into it when it’s time for a vet consultation.

When my guardian angel visited me yesterday, she couldn’t believe how grown-up and beautiful I am now. Quite a difference from the scrawny little thing she kept alive and helped to find a forever home.




Thursday, December 15, 2016

A book review of Foley Monster’s book “Tails from Rainbow Bridge”


By Hobo Hudson



My former attorney and very good friend, Ms. Foley Monster, has proved herself a great and compassionate author. Her just published book “Tails from Rainbow Bridge” chronicles the lives of her friends who preceded or followed her crossing of the Rainbow Bridge. It tells about their earthly accomplishments, ventures and antics, about their defiance to heed the call to the afterlife and about their work and play when they finally reached their eternal destiny while Ms. Foley Monster’s own life and feats unroll. 

Having been an attorney who has become a judge at the Rainbow Bridge, Ms. Foley Monster used the acquired proficiency and diligence in writing her book. She took on an enormous task researching her friends’ lives, conducting interviews, arranging the details and putting it all together. And she did an outstanding job.

The book is fantastic, witty and sad, hilarious and mournful, encouraging and forlorn, wise and poignant, honest and wishful, and your paws will turn the pages as the stories about your fellow dogs come to life. It inspires us pets to keep doing what we do best: taking care of our parents in any way we can wherever we are.

The book also shows Ms. Foley Monster’s flair for artwork. The front book cover, as well as the back cover, has a beautiful design and the cutest picture of the author herself.

 
The book is available at amazon.com



Monday, October 17, 2016

Letting the world go by …


By Hobo Hudson 

 

Letting the world go by, and that’s not all I let happen after retirement. I let my health go by, too. I retired with the idea of easing up on my responsibilities and finding a hobby to relax, but instead, my life has remained as hectic as it was. My daily routine involves eating, sleeping, supervising Dad taking care of my vegetable and fruit production and my cafeteria for birds and squirrels in the backyard, dictating outlines of my new book to Mom, enforcing the contract I have with my cat siblings to supply me with a percentage of their treats, making sure the cats perform their sentry duty on the windowsill to the front yard, and protecting Mom, Dad and my doggy brother, Wylie, on our daily walks.

So, when I started feeling out of sorts, I attributed it to stress. To make matters worse, Wylie, whom I had made partner to help me with my busy schedule a while ago, had to undergo knee surgery and has been unable to help. All the work fell on me, and never mind the vet saying fatty food had most likely caused the pancreatitis I came down with, I say it was stress. While I trust my vet with his diagnosis as long as he makes me feel better, I beg to differ with his ordering me to go on a bland, low-fat diet because the mere thought of it doesn’t make me feel good at all.

I had been healthy my whole life and never had to go to the vet except for my annual examinations and vaccinations. I also could eat whatever I wanted without suffering any ill effects. Of course, I threw up once in a while, but it was never serious and was always a one-time affair. It surely never cut down on my appetite. As far as I remember, I only had diarrhea once or twice and it cleared up the same day.

Now, I had three surgeries, but they happened later in life and were strictly age-related: a cataract surgery, which was an elective procedure, and two skin surgeries to remove tags and growths, which usually appear with old age. Maybe that should have been a warning and I should have known to rein in my passion for rich food as I got older, but it never crossed my mind.

I know something was wrong when I lost my appetite and couldn’t even stand the sight of food. I had to vomit a few times, and then the worst started, the diarrhea. I can’t recall how many times Mom or Dad went outside with me, and often, I couldn’t do anything even though I had an urge. During the whole ordeal, I never felt weak or in pain, but the diarrhea didn’t ease up, and I kept rejecting any kind of food.

Luckily, my vet found out right away that I was suffering from pancreatitis, and after having been hooked up to an IV for several hours three days in a row and having been medicated, I now feel better again. I was hoping to celebrate my recovered health with a big juicy steak, but to my great dismay, my favorite food will be off-limits for who knows how long.

Life isn’t fair. When I was a pup, I could eat steak three times a day but couldn’t afford even a smell. Now that I can afford it, I can’t eat it.

 
Thursday, February 25, 2016

My skin surgery



By Hobo Hudson

Early this week, I had surgery big time. The vet cut me open in six places. He removed two tumors on my chest—which I hope will be benign—one skin tag on my head, another one on my cheek and three on my back, two of which he could reach with only one incision. I thanked him for it. 


But that’s not all. While the vet had me on the operating table, he also cleaned my teeth and found out that he needed to pull three of them. Don’t think I’m toothless yet. I still have more than enough teeth left to devour a nice juicy steak without any problems, only I have to wait a few days for it to happen. I have to let the tooth extractions heal. My mom commented that I have now lost my fish breath, and I guess it should make me happy and let me forget about the pain.

But seriously, I feel pretty good, and considering that I will be 16 years old in less than a month, I went through the whole affair like a champ. While Mom and Dad had been worried sick about my surgery, I said to the vet’s nurse who called the next day asking how I was doing, “What surgery? I’m doing fine as usual.”

I didn’t tell her, though, how much I relish the special treatment I receive at home while I recuperate. Mom and Dad shower me with extra petting—hugs don’t work that well because of all the sutures I have—and extra praise, and they even bought me gourmet doggy food. Of course, my doggy brother and my kitty siblings are constantly on their paws to accommodate me in any way they can, although I have to be on my toes while eating or Wylie will try to steal my gourmet food.




Saturday, February 20, 2016

The Ruskin Doggy Band



By Wylie Hudson
 

I’ve decided to follow in my mom’s footsteps and become an artist. Not an author, though. I’m leaving the book writing to Mom and Hobo. I’m seeing myself more as a performer and thinking of becoming a musician.

Our neighbor Bongo, a huge black Labrador, and I are seriously considering to form the Ruskin Doggy Band. Every time we meet, we practice singing together, and it’s getting better and better. Bongo always sets the pitch and I tune in and from there on, lovely tones come pouring out of our mouths, all in perfect harmony. It sounds fantastic, and it just comes naturally to us.
 
Selling our music on the Internet will bring in a lot of kibbles, I’m sure about it, and I’ll finally be known for something besides being Hobo’s second paw. Our music might even become a bigger hit than Hobo’s books.
 
I don’t know how, when and where we’ll do our first recording, and I’m letting Hobo take care of it. He is more experienced in entrepreneur stuff than Bongo and I. But we’re already giving out free passes to the recording session. So, if you’re interested in seeing and hearing Bongo and me perform our musical duet, email Hobo@pmail.com for a free ticket.
 


My friend and singing partner Bongo







Friday, January 29, 2016

Settling in



By Sabrina Hudson

As soon as Hobo invited me inside the house the first time, he explained that my future duties would include, in addition to being a part-time lap warmer, to stay awake all night to keep the mice from nibbling on Dad’s toes and also to awaken Dad promptly at 2 o’clock in the morning.

When the magic night arrived and Hobo told me it was time to stay inside and assume my duties, I was all prepared. Dad picked me up and put me on the bed beside him, but I knew this wasn’t the best way to keep the mice away, so I jumped down and made a thorough inspection of the entire bedroom and then lay down across the open bedroom door to prevent any mice from entering the room.

This proved to be a long night as I alternated my vision from the hallway to Dad sleeping and from Thomas peacefully sleeping at Dad’s feet to the clock’s hands ever so slowly turning to mark the passage of time until the hands finally showed 2 a.m.  

The bedroom was dark, but I could discern a black mass where Dad was lying on his side. I launched myself at what I thought would be the edge of the bed but misjudged the distance and landed right on top of Dad’s side. Feeling myself start to slip off, I instinctively extended my front claws and dug in. However, I continued to slip, leaving ten neat tracks of red across Dad’s chest. Dad screamed and bolted upright, jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. I, of course, ran for safety.

Thomas sauntered out into the living room a few minutes later and coaxed me out of my hiding place behind the sofa. He marveled at the unique way I had of waking Dad but explained to me it might be better if I just jumped up on the bed beside Dad and gently poked him with my paw or tickled his nose with the tip of my tail.

After a long while, Dad came stumbling through the living room covered with so many bandages he looked like a mummy and told us that he had been attacked by a wildcat while he was sleeping and he might have to hire a pit bull to protect himself. Luckily, Thomas didn’t give me away.

Dad went into the kitchen, started a pot of coffee and arranged his breakfast on the breakfast bar with Thomas observing closely. When all was ready and Dad sat down to eat, Thomas jumped onto the nearest dining room chair so he could reach Dad’s fingers for a handout. He then called me to come over and whispered into my ear to rub against Dad’s leg and Dad would give me some tasty tidbits also. I did as instructed and received what I thought was a wonderful breakfast.

After we ate everything Dad offered, Thomas hopped down and explained to me this had been just an appetizer and Mom would give us breakfast later when she ate.

True to Thomas’ prediction, Mom soon came out of the bedroom, and I walked with her into the kitchen and jumped into the chair Thomas had occupied. Mom told me she would give me breakfast in just a minute and took out a bowl and poured some dry stuff into it and then filled the bowl with milk. However, instead of giving it to me, she turned and walked away.

I was naturally curious about what my breakfast was to be, so I jumped onto the breakfast bar to check it out. A quick bite told me the dry stuff wasn’t very good but the milk was delicious, and I was happily lapping it up when lightning started to flash and thunder filled the room. The ceiling started to vibrate, and I was afraid it would crash down at any moment, and so I dove under the kitchen table and closed my eyes. When the thunder finally began to abate, I cautiously opened an eye and saw the lightning was coming from Mom’s eyes and the thunder from her lips.

“SABRINA!” she screamed. “BAD CAT! That was MY breakfast! Yours will be on the floor in a few minutes.”

I guess I stepped on my tail that time but things went pretty smoothly after that, although it took a little while to become accustomed to being a lap warmer, but now I really enjoy it and hop into Mom’s or Dad’s lap as soon as they sit down.




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About

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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