Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Doggy humor: The daddy exchange

By Hobo Hudson

I’ve had a lot of barks lately from my friends complaining that their dads never get around to doing the odd jobs that either my friends or their moms want done around the house, and I have spent some sleepless nights thinking about the problem and trying to find a solution.

A deep analysis of the uncooperative attitude of my friends’ dads led me to the conclusion that there are a number of aspects causing the holdup to occur:  

1. Dads are getting older and either can’t do the chores they once could do, or they    
    work a lot slower and take much longer to get things accomplished.

2. The marvel of complacency: Dads have learned that if they put things off long
    enough, we pups and our moms will eventually give up nagging.

After hours of contemplating what I could do to help my friends, I have come up with the perfect solution, and I have created the Daddy Exchange. I describe briefly how it works: When you sign up as a member of this exchange, I will enter your dad’s date of birth into my data file. Once per year, I will send the oldest dad to a retirement home and then have all remaining dads move into the kennel of the previous oldest members.

The advantage of being a member of my exchange is that it will allow the oldest dad to retire with dignity for a job well done throughout his life and will also jar dads out of their complacency by moving into a new household and making them prove themselves both in the new moms’ eyes and also in the new pups’ eyes.

To enroll for the Daddy Exchange service, simply start sending me, Hobo, 25 kibbles per month and e-mail me your dad’s date of birth, and I’ll take care of all the details. I’m looking forward to having you join my exchange shortly.
My e-mail address is:
Monday, June 6, 2011

Doggy humor: The kitchen faucet

By Hobo Hudson

Dad was on the computer and I was snoozing at his feet, keeping one ear open to insure that he didn’t goof off. Suddenly, a scream shattered my peaceful interlude. I bolted with Dad on my rear paws toward the kitchen, where I sensed the scream had come from, and we found Mom standing at the sink rinsing the dishes while the water trickled out of the faucet.

Dad yelled, “What’s the matter?” Mom turned off the dribbling water and said, “There is a hole in the faucet spout.”

Dad went to the sink and opened the faucet full force. Sure enough, a stream of water jetted up and hit him right in the face. Jumping aside, he jerked the faucet handle forward to shut off the water and wiped his face with his hand. “No problem, honey,” he said. “This faucet has a lifetime warranty, and its only 25 years old. I’ll just call the company and get them to send another spout.”

Without wasting time, Dad placed a call to the company’s service department and found it didn’t have spouts of the style we needed anymore. The customer service employee told Dad to just return the entire assembly, and the company would have a new assembly shipped to him within four to six weeks of receipt of the old faucet at its new headquarters in China.

When Dad told Mom what the employee had suggested, Mom smiled and said, “That means we’ll be eating all our meals out for the two months or so until we get the new faucet because I can’t cook or wash dishes without water.” Dad, being a little fuzzy thinking sometimes, just said, “That sounds about right.”

In the middle of the night, Dad woke up in a cold sweat, remembering his conversation with Mom about the faucet and his agreeing about eating out. He kept tossing and turning and finally decided it might really be better if he just bought a new faucet and forgot about the warranty.

The next morning, Dad and I were off to the hardware store first thing after we had our breakfast. A friendly female employee helped us select a pretty faucet and inquired if Dad would also like to buy a faucet wrench and plumber’s putty. “Nope,” Dad replied. “I’ve got that.” We paid and rushed home to install the new faucet for Mom.

After Dad had collected a couple of tools he would need from the garage, he went into the house to pick up his faucet wrench, but it wasn’t there. “Do you know where my faucet wrench is?” he called out to Mom. Walking into the bathroom where Dad was standing, Mom asked him where he thought he had put it. “Right here,” Dad replied, pointing to the middle of the bathroom floor. “I distinctly remember leaving it right here when I fixed the bathroom sink about seven years ago.” Mom just shook her head and told him she had probably put it somewhere but didn’t remember where.

I heard Dad muttering that he wished Mom would leave his tools alone, and then we drove back to the hardware store to buy a wrench. The employee who helped us earlier just laughed and said, “Couldn’t find it, huh? Now, are you sure you don’t want some plumber’s putty while you’re here?”

Dad just growled that he knew he had putty at home and where it was and didn’t need any more. We paid for the wrench and returned home. Dad went back into the garage, snatched the plumber’s putty container off the shelf almost without looking and scurried into the kitchen. He swiftly removed the old faucet and opened the putty container, but the putty was as hard as a rock.

Without saying a word, he slipped out of the front door with me on his heels, and back to the hardware store we went. By now, Dad was a little embarrassed about his buying mishaps, and so we waited in front of the store and watched through the window until we saw the employee who had to come to know us very well paying full attention to another customer. We ran inside the store, grabbed a container of putty and rushed back outside after leaving some money on the cashier’s counter. As we were getting into the car, I saw the employee looking at us, waving the money and laughing.

Back home, Dad was finally able to complete the faucet project after only five hours and 30 minutes when his first estimate was about one hour and 30 minutes. About par for Dad’s work around the house.
Thursday, June 2, 2011

Doggy humor: The great safari

By Hobo Hudson

When I ambled into the kitchen this morning to get my treats from Dad while he was waiting for his coffee to brew, Dad handed me two pieces of the same kind of treats instead of the usual variety of two different ones. He said we were out of the one flavor of treats, and he had to give me two of the one we still have until he had time to go buy some more.

This was certainly not my idea of the perfect way to start another day, and letting me run out of a selection of my treats was rather annoying. To make it clear that I was not happy, I jumped on the kitchen counter and put my nose in Dad’s face and barked with a toothy smile, “You’re going to have time to buy my treat as soon as you finish your breakfast, aren’t you?”

Without hesitating, Dad said yes, Hobo, and he quickly sat down at the table to eat breakfast while I planted myself next to him, nipping at his leg to make sure he hurried up. After Dad had finally swallowed the last bite of toast and washed it down with the drops of coffee left in his cup, he got up, grabbed his car keys and told Mom he and I were going over to Pet Supermarket to get my treats. I pricked my ears. Going to Pet Supermarket here in town? This wasn’t really what I had in mind because a vision of the clear boxes of tasty peanut butter cookies only available at PetSmart had popped into my head.

Thinking fast and relying on Dad’s usual befuddled morning condition, I casually mentioned I had seen a sale of my treats at PetSmart, and they were ten cents a pack cheaper up there. If we buy three packages, we can save a whole thirty cents.

Since Dad is pretty tight with a dollar, I knew he would jump on my suggestion, and I was praying that he hadn’t had drunk enough coffee to realize it would cost $10 in gas to get to PetSmart while driving to Pet Supermarket would only cost about $1 in gas.

Luckily, Dad’s mind was still a little fuzzy, and he didn’t pick up on that point, so we were soon off on our great safari. After about 40 minutes of driving and having passed Pet Supermarket soon after leaving home, we arrived at PetSmart. On entering, the cashier who wasn’t busy at the moment gave me a great ear scratch and directed us to the aisle containing my treats where another employee handed the treats to Dad. I gave her one of my business cards, and she promised to read to see what I was going to bark about her.

When we were walking back toward the check out counter, I pulled Dad to a shelf display and showed him the see-through boxes of delicious peanut butter cookies, and Dad couldn’t resist buying a box for me.

“Mission accomplished,” I thought as I was leading the way out of the store.


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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