Monday, May 13, 2013

A romantic breakfast

By Hobo Hudson

I was supervising Dad as he prepared my breakfast buffet for the squirrels and the birds on the sun deck when a scrawny squirrel poked his head under the front gate of my backyard and hurried up to me. The fellow looked as though he hadn’t eaten for a week, and his fur was all bedraggled.

“Please Mr. Hobo, could I have one of those big peanuts with three peanuts inside it?” he asked.

I took a hard look at the stranger and then asked how he knew my name and why he had the nerve to ask for a large peanut instead of being grateful and content for what I gave him.

The little fellow hung his head and said, “Mr. Hobo, don’t you know me? I’m Peter XIV, one of Charlene’s great great great …Oh I forget how many generations down the line I am. I used to come over every morning before I got married and never asked for special favors until now, but now I’m desperate.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked

Prompted, Peter began his sad tale.

“I married too young,” he confessed. “My mother enrolled me in an agility class not long after I had my eyes open, and I learned to jump from limb to limb and even jump onto your sun deck. Susan 94th, a rich little girl from two blocks over, was also in my class. One day during training, Susan slipped and I caught her, and love was born.

“Our love really blossomed when we attended peanut begging class together, and we decided to get married. My mother was against it because she thought we should finish all our classes, so we both had some skills and I could support my new wife, but we knew better.

“Susan and I decided to elope and, when we got back home and told our parents the happy news, they all said that if we were old enough to get married, we were old enough to support ourselves, and they cut us off without a single acorn to our names.

“We found a cheap apartment in a low rent tree across the street and were able to keep body and sole alive by working all day, but now, we have three little babies and Susan has to stay home with them. We just can’t survive on what I’ve been able to bring home.

“This morning, I decided to brave crossing the street to see if I can beg a peanut or two from you, Mr. Hobo, to bring over to Susan and then come back and maybe eat some corn to keep myself going.”

When I heard Peter’s sad tale, my heart went out to the little guy, and I told him to wait a minute while I ran into the house. I returned with a small plastic bag and told Dad to put four of the large peanuts into the bag together with a handful of sunflower seeds and a little corn.

I handed the filled bag to Peter and said, “You take this back to your nest, and you can have a nice breakfast with Susan. If you’ll promise to start your classes again and if Susan will promise to start her classes when your babies are old enough to accompany her, I’ll give you a bag like this every morning. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”

I watched Peter drag the bag full of goodies across the road and wondered if the two of them have learned their lesson and are willing to try to better themselves. If they work at it, I’ll try to help them but, if not, I’ll cut them off because I’m not going to support any lazy bums. I guess time will tell.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Famous author joins the 51 percent club

By Hobo Hudson

I am proud to announce that I have joined the 51 percent club and have pledged to donate at least 51 percent of my assets to worthy charities.

When followers of the 51 percent club first approached me some time back, I gave them a very fast no because there is no way that I would donate over half my wealth after working so hard to earn the bones. They assured me, however, that I don’t have to donate anything today but only to put down in my will that 51 percent or more would go to charities of my choice. These charities could include any legitimate group, or I could form my own charitable foundation and nominate the dog of my choice to run it.

This information put joining the club into an entirely different light. I could spend any bones I want now and enjoy life to the fullest and only give away a portion of the bones left when I go to the bridge. The great publicity this simple act generates will probably help me sell another million copies of my book, The Richest Dog In Town, so everything seems to be positive with no drawbacks.

I have therefore put my paw print to the pledge and it is effective immediately. My attorney, Ms. Foley Monster, has set up a variety of trusts to accomplish my needs. The trusts are as follows:

1. The Hobo Hudson’s Cat Trust. Since I want to be certain that my old cat employees are able to enjoy a dignified old age, I have set up this trust to insure that adequate funds are available to insure their care in perpetuity. This trust has been funded with one million bones. Since cats can’t be trusted to manage funds, all income will be paid to me during my lifetime and I will be trustee. Upon my death, all income will be paid to Mom and Dad and they will be trustees. Upon the death of the last cat, the trust will be dissolved and the corpus will be transferred to the Hobo Hudson Family Trust.

2. The Hobo Hudson Family Trust has been initially funded with 20 million bones, and I may decide to add more funds at a later date. I am the trustee and all earnings will be paid to me during my lifetime. Upon my death, Mom and Dad will become trustees, and they may take unlimited funds from the trust, including income and corpus as they may require. Upon their deaths, all remaining funds will be transferred to the Hobo Hudson Foundation for distribution.

3. The Hobo Hudson Foundation has been set up as a qualified charity for I.R.S. purposes with an initial funding of 100 bones and myself as sole trustee. Upon my death, Mom and Dad will be trustees. When they leave us, the trust will be dissolved with 40 percent going to C.A.R.E., 40 percent to Southeastern Guide Dogs and the remaining 20 percent to be named by Mom and Dad before their deaths.

After putting my pawprint onto these checks, I received a bark from my banker saying my account was overdrawn by 18 bones, so I borrowed 20 bones from Dad to keep my account solvent until I receive the next royalty payment on my book.

This sounds sort of like some of the hooman members, doesn’t it?


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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