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.
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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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