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Dog-mom, do you know what your pup does when you are away?

I’ve been away for a rather long time…but I’ll write about it later. The last two months have been rather difficult, but it’s good to be back 🙂

Here’s what your pet does when you are away. (Ladies, please don’t get emotional.)

Reading your diary - when you are away keyhole cartoons by bobby elhans.

More later. It’s dinner time, and in this new facility you get twenty minutes to down your food; if you fail you can forget about eating anything until the next morning. More about that in my next post.

I must go now.

 

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When You Are Away – The Furry and the Furious (The Poodle’s Faux Pas!)

Had been busy introspecting. Imagine a writer getting pet-portraiture requests! I know I did something odd – something that people don’t do…but it opened the flood-gates. I fell in love with the pictures of a couple of pups and sketched them – every once in a while I do it. Sketch pups. But I can’t do it all the time, especially for free. I mean, I am no Bill Gates! Heck, I don’t even earn the minimum wages, I don’t have a medical insurance, and I need to really work hard go put food on the table. So…an offer to sketch for a fee would be acceptable, even appreciated, but I can’t do it for free.

Anyway, the point is that I am left with two options:

1. Stop sketching and sharing the sketches.
2. Develop a thick hide and refuse the sketch-for-free offers.

Still weighing.

Meanwhile, here’s a “When you are Away” cartoon for you. If you have a lady dog, especially a poodle, you would know what she means.

When you are Away…Pet (Dog, Cat) cartoons by Bobby Elhans - The Poodle's fashion sense.

I’ll be posting Chapter 6 soon…when I resurface for another big gulp of air!

 

 

 

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When You Are Away, The Dogs Play! – Introducing Through-the-Keyhole Pet Cartoons!

I’ve recently come to the conclusion that our pets are so smart that they make us think that we are smarter than them. There’s a lot of stuff that they don’t do in front of us, and then we come back from wherever the heck we had gone and where (in their opinion) we shouldn’t have gone – we see stuff that astonishes us. We then talk to other confused humans and try to figure out, how on earth did our innocuous little pup accomplish it all in that little window of time?!!!

To put all our wild conjecturing to rest, I talked to my dog, and under her expert remote supervision on Skype, I’ve put together an array of cartoons that leave little to imagination.

Here’s the first in the series. I did some experimentation with the keyhole frame – the ornamentation is to prove that dogs are royalty.

When you are away your pets play - dog, cat, pet cartoons jokes humor fiction children's literature author bobby elhans

Aha! I finally get the whole bed to sleep in…

 

I’d also like to introduce two new furry friends here.

More “When You Are Away” Cartoons coming soon.

 

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Chapter 5: Zoe, Ben, and the Furry Lady of the Righteous Path.

<<<Chapter 4: From the Apple Grove to the Knoll – Becoming Anon and Rescuing Cubby the Terrier Pup (Part II)<<<

When the rain had stopped, Zoe had pulled herself out of the tree-hollow and checked out the place. A few noses-full of the air had told her that there was a water-body nearby. The air smelled of fish, and fish meant water. This place was hundreds of miles away from the sea, and so it had to be fresh water.

Zoe’s mouth began to water. She was famished.

She sniffed again.

The air that carried the smell was blowing southward, which meant that the water-body was up north.

The anticipation of food made her forget her injuries and prompted her to run, but as her muscles tensed, the pain flared up once again. She yelped and turned to check her bruised leg. It was her left hind and it looked a little crooked. She licked it, hoping that the licking would reduce the inflammation and bring the pain down.

Her thoughts returned to the family. Unbidden thoughts came swarming into her mind.

Did they miss her?

Nobody talked to her; nobody gave her treats; nobody cuddled up with her, except little Johnny, but whenever his mom saw him with Zoe, she dragged him away.

She shook her head and tried to drive away those dark memories, but there weren’t any brighter ones to take their place, so they kept slipping back in place.

Splash!

A sound of something falling into water broke the eerie silence of the place.

The water-body was close. Very close!

This motivated her.

She stood up again, careful of not putting her weight on her left hind, instead redistributing it on the other three. Slowly, she followed the scent. The ground was uneven and every step that she took sent waves of pain through her broken leg, but she persevered. She went around the huge rock that the hollow tree had fallen against. The undergrowth here was rather high. There were shrubs that left you bristling if you brushed past them and there were trees of all kinds, but most of them were pines. The ground was covered with dried-up pine needles.

Zoe carefully found her way through the jungle, wincing with every step, but continuing nevertheless.

In about an hour, she collapsed at the side of the creek. As she sat there and took it all in, she realized that right where she was, a group of boulders had formed a tiny pool.

She dragged herself closer and peered in.

There was fish in the water.

adventures of the whistling woods - a book by bobby elhans - zoe the injured labrador pup finds fish.

She managed to catch three after seven misses. Terrible performance. But after she had caught one and devoured it with a hunger that she had sustained for almost forty hours, it became easier; and yet, every time she leaped into the water to catch one, the pain that shot through her leg made her yelp.

The pain was bad, but the yelp was good, because it brought her to Ben’s attention.

Ben, who was tying up his catch fifty yards upstream of where Zoe sat, heard Zoe scream.

This was the first time in four years that he had come this far and in all the times that he had been in this place, this was the first time that he had heard a dog. The Whistling Woods, as the outsiders called this forest, were intimidating and forbidding, and nobody ever came in this far. Yet, today, the rain had played havoc and it was impossible to fish in the swirly muddy waters downstream. So he had climbed up to reached this place in search of relatively still water.

When he heard Zoe, he was preparing to leave. But now he couldn’t. Not without checking upon the pup.

So he walked along the western bank of the creek, crossing the ruins of the stone-bridge on his way. It was odd that there used to be a bridge in the middle of these woods. Possibly someone lived here once, he thought absently.

There it was. A yellow Labrador pup!

“Yooohoo!” He called out and waved at Zoe.

Zoe looked up and saw a bearded man waving at her. He wore a hat. She squinted. The hat looked like a woman’s hat. That’s strange, she thought. Here experience told her that humans were generally finicky about what they called fashion, and a man wearing a woman’s hat was definitely being unfashionable.

adventures of the whistling woods - a book by bobby elhans - zoe the injured labrador pup is rescued by Ben, the man in the ladies' hat.

But it didn’t matter. Right now she just wanted to be rescued, and she couldn’t care less if her rescuer was wearing a dress instead of that grayed out overcoat. The man had a ragged backpack throne on his back and a reeled-in fishing rod in one of his hands that were covered in tattered leather gloves.

She sniffed the air.

The man wasn’t a threat. He was friendly.

All this processing took Zoe less than a second, and she wagged her tail. The delay was imperceptible to Ben. He had no idea that the pup had already analyzed and categorized him. The wagging tail, he knew, was a friendly gesture. Ben had never owned a dog. He was not that kind of a man. He hadn’t married, had no kids, and for the entire world, he was a good-for-nothing bum on the streets.

Today, for no logical reason, he found himself drawn towards the pup.

He stepped over the stone and held out a hand. Hold your hand out, palm up, he had read somewhere. Dogs felt threatened when a stranger approached them and held out a hand palm down.

Zoe looking into his eyes, and held up a paw.

Ben took her paw into his hand, little realizing that his action had forged a bond of friendship between them. He didn’t know it yet, but their souls had connected.

In the forest that people knew as the Whistling Woods, nothing curious had happened in seven long years – then in a single day, two pairs of lives crossed paths and two friendships were formed.

The Furry Lady of the Righteous Path had brought them together.

As Ben bent down to pick Zoe up, she smiled upon them through the canopies of the trees that whistled and sang to celebrate the moment.

——— ¤¤¤ ———

Just outside the Whistling Woods, forces dark and evil were gathering momentum, and the Furry Lady of the Righteous Path knew that she had to hurry.

 

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From the Hideout: Dogs, Puppies, Writers, and the Mantra for World Peace.

Yes, yes. I am still here, and I am still pondering over matters that I never spent a measly thought on, when I was out there. My sudden transformation into a global thinker could be attributed to the silence of this underground cell. Out there, the noise levels were deafening. Noise of every imaginable kind kept me away from any kind of serious thinking. Now, because I “can” actually think and analyze, I have been able to identify at least three different types of noises that drowned my genius.

  1. The noise of societal expectations from everyone around me.
  2. The noise of useless information being plied to me by the media.
  3. The noise made by those days, hours, and minutes that I ignored, because I never valued them enough.

So, if I shift my vantage point – my captivity is, in fact, the most liberating experience that I’ve ever had. I know that this won’t last, and that one of my readers will eventually find the location of this underground bunker and  I will be back in the noisy world. Until the day arrives, I intend to make the best of the situation.

So, here’s another tangible output of my thought-process.

Dogs and pups show us the way to world peace.

If we stopped hurting others, we could all co-exist peacefully. When we laugh at other people’s miseries, when we make fun of their shortcomings, we injure egos. The wounds of those who have strong emotional immunity, heal quickly; but those who are more emotional or who are extremely sensitive, their wounds fester. These emotional wounds bring about incidents that result in loss of life and property.

I’ll let the dogs talk:

What we can learn from dogs - How to ensure world peace - cartoons - dogs, pups, and pets - pet humor

 

This week has been rather good to me from the viewpoint of making friends. Among the many wonderful friends that I have found through Twitter and WordPress, here are 7:

  1. Lulu loves films, and if you do to – check out here cool posts on movies at: lululovesfilms.wordpress.com
  2. Then you have the Table Top Reader who write Micro-stories and poetry at: masterswami.wordpress.com

I had no idea that Tweeting could be such fun. It’s all about finding your kind of people. Two of my kind of people are dogs and writers. So here’s to them, in the right order, which obviously puts dogs first.

The Pups:

  1. @RumpyDog (Yes. Found him on Twitter – quite serendipitously, in fact.)
  2. @Happy_Pit (A truly happy Pit.)
  3. @steelergirltp43 (Alana is actually a human but she tweets the coolest pictures of the coolest dogs with the coolest captions!)

And now the writers:

  1. @Greymuir (Grey Muir – The mystery/fantasy writer)
  2. @jameswriter (James Paddock – The mystery/thriller writer)
  3. @vvbernard (Vanessa B. Bernard – YA writer/Illustrator)

Chapter 5 is coming up soon. You will find the answer to the question that you asked at the end of Chapter 1 –  What happens to Zoe?

 
 

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From the Hideout: Dogs have Feelings too – So choose your words carefully!

I’ve been stuck here for about two weeks now. It’s been like I’ve been living the longest Alaskan night in Deadhorse, Alaska! I bet I am not going to be out of here in 54 nightly days…it might be a lot longer than that.

I had read somewhere that an empty mind is the devil’s workshop. Well, the devil has been working all the Alaskan night long, and producing content that doesn’t fit into any genre…nor does it fit into my head!

But let’s push the devilish thoughts aside and talk about feelings.

We always find people whining about how others hurt their feelings. Some people, young and old alike, think that everyone else needs to be careful with their words; everyone except they themselves. Then we also have people, more often the young ones, who think that elders need to give them space; but that the elders don’t need any space for themselves. You know the kind, don’t you?

And yet, not everyone complains. They too have feelings, they too feel hurt, but they don’t snap at us (thankfully,) they don’t get teary-eyed, they don’t throw stuff around, they don’t huff and puff and walk out of the door – they just let us be nasty.

If you have a dog or a cat, you know what I am talking about. You can recall, the way I can, those incidents when you did stuff that was totally uncalled for…and then later, without asking for any explanation, your furry friend was by your side again – not demanding apologies, not showing you the emotional bruises left behind by your rough treatment.

Here’s what would happen if your dog was human.

Cartoon pets (dogs and cats) - Dogs have feelings too - what would dogs do if they were human!

We are lucky that they are dogs…and cats…and ever so forgiving 🙂

 

If you’ve got a pet, there’s a good chance that you love him or her; even then, there are occasions when they exasperate you, and you shout at them. Reign your emotions in. They can’t fight you back – not on account of their hurt feelings.

Now go, hug your pet.

Additional Note: No. They aren’t “it.” Not for me. Not for most pet-owners and animal-lovers. The Grammarians must call it quits on this matter.

 

 
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Posted by on May 17, 2014 in Pet Humor, Pup and Dog Cartoons

 

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Chapter 4: From the Apple Grove to the Knoll – Rescuing Cubby the Terrier Pup (Part II)

<<<Chapter 4: From the Apple Grove to the Knoll – Becoming Anon (Part I)<<<

Continued…

He ran through the apple grove and came out in a small clearing that had a knoll in the middle. Trees surrounded the knoll, but the only vegetation upon it was a few shrubs, some wild-plants, and thick grass. The sound of howling continued to fill the clearing. It was louder now, and it certainly came from the knoll.

The boy ran up the shallow slope of the knoll. Even though his shoes were uncomfortably huge, he was nimble on his feet. When he reached the top of the knoll, the ground ahead of him opened into a deep hole. Anyone else would’ve fallen in, but he understood the woods and had learned to expect the unexpected, so he stopped a few steps short of it.

He fell to his knees and crawled ahead cautiously, testing the ground with one of his hands before moving forward. He knew something about these holes. The edges were crumbling all the time, and it was best to approach a hole cautiously, so just before peering down into it, he lowered himself down and spread-eagled himself on the ground, digging his toes into the dirt. When he felt secure, he pulled himself a little over the edge and looked down.

There was indeed a creature down there. The kind he had never seen before. It looked more like a piece of rag with its dirty threads hanging matted and loose. Yet, because it was the thing that was producing the howling sound, he was sure that it was actually a creature.

“Shhhh,” he made a sound – the kind he whenever he hurt himself; it always soothed him, so perhaps it would soothe this creature too.

He was right. The tiny dirty bundle of fur stopped wailing almost immediately.

The next thing that happened was certainly very odd. It had never happened to the boy before! He heard a voice penetrate his mind and speak to him.

“Hey, I am Cubby,” said the voice, “please help. Take me out of here.”

What was odder still was that the boy understood the meaning of what he heard. Seven years of silence could make anyone believe that he was deaf and dumb.

But what the boy didn’t know was that he wasn’t supposed to hear and understand Cubby, because Cubby was a pup, and pups and humans don’t usually hold conversations.

“Hey, boy! Are you going to help me or not?” He heard the creature again.

Sure, but I need to think of a way to get you out, the boy thought.

The oddest of all things hadn’t happened yet, which was that the creature heard his thought and barked back.

“OK boy, don’t take too long. These quarters are awfully cramped, even for a tiny pup!”

The boy heard it – but he wasn’t shocked by it. He came across a new oddity every few days. So what if he had never spoken to any animal in the past – there was always a first time. Later, after he had saved it, he would also find out what kind of creature a “pup” was.

Right now, he had a problem to solve. If only he could build a sort of bucket, which he could hang in the hole, the creature could climb into the bucket and he would pull it out.

What can I use to make a bucket? He thought.

“Are you dense? Use your hat!” the pup barked back.

So the creature can actually hear my thoughts, another thought unwittingly popped up in the boy’s mind.

“Sure I can. Now can we cap the small talk and get me out of here,” said the pup in a voice that sounded gruff and more in command now. Cubby was back in his element.

The boy removed his hat and inspected its rim. It was already full of holes. He could actually use a couple of creepers, twist them into a rope and run the rope through the holes to make a sling and save this poor creature.

The boy acted on his plan, and in a few minutes Cubby was out of the hole.

.

Pet Rescue Stories - Cubby the Terrier pup is rescued by the nameless boy - Adventures, children's literature, pups, dogs, heroes.

After the cold and wet dirt at the base of the hole, Cubby found the hat soft and warm, so he didn’t hurry out. Instead, he held out a paw.

“Thank you Mister, you saved my life.” he said, and then introduced himself to his savior in a low dignified bark trying to imitate the older dogs that he had met prior to zooming down the hole.

“I’m Cubby. I am a three-month old terrier who has lost its family,” he said.

For a moment the boy wondered about the words “terrier” and “family,” then he took the offered paw in his hand and thought, Cubby, I live here. It’s getting dark now, and it’s best I leave. So please get out of the hat.

Cubby gave him the soulful look that only a pup can muster, but he didn’t leave the hat.

He had nowhere to go.

So the boy carefully took him out of the hat and sat him down on the ground. Then he picked his hat, removed the creepers from the hole and put the hat on his head.

Cubby still sat there.

Why don’t you go somewhere? He looked at the pup and thought.

“Where?” whined the pup, his voice soft – the kind that melts people’s hearts!

The boy had no answer.

The pup barked again, softly. The boy was odd. He’d have to change his tactic.

“What’s your name, boy?”

Name? What is a name? The boy thought.

“A name is a way to identify you, to call you. For example, my name is Cubby, so when someone says Cubby, I know they are talking to me,” said the pup, slightly puzzled because he had never met anyone without a name.

I don’t have one, the boy mused, an old musty feeling of sadness creeping upon him.

“No name? I see,” said the pup wondering whether he indeed saw anything, but he wanted to keep the conversation going, so he continued, “Someone who keeps his name secret is called Anonymous. How about this – lest us give you a name! Let us call you Anon.”

And who is going to call me Anon? I live alone, thought the boy.

“I will, if you take me along,” the pup looked into his eyes and made a promise of forever friendship and loyalty – the promise that had been made between a human and his dog for centuries, and which had stood all tests of time.

The boy didn’t know about promises and stuff, but when he heard the pup and looked into those innocent eyes, his heart melted. He smiled and picked up the dirty little rag doll and put him into the pocket of his oversized overcoat. A feeling of soft warmth spread through the boy’s body, as the pup laid his chin over the boy’s sleeve.

For the first time in his little life the pup had imprinted upon someone, and his canine senses told him that now he would forever be Anon’s dog.

For the first time since he could remember, the boy had talked to someone – and although he didn’t know anything about pups and dogs and their loyalty towards their human companions, he knew that he had found a forever friend!

.

Chapter 4 - Part 2 - A Story of Superheroes - Pets, Dogs, Cats, and time-travel - Adventures.

That evening when the boy returned to the cave, he was no longer lonely or nameless – he had Cubby and he had a name.

When he moved the creepers aside, entered his cave, and threw the switch on, he remembered – he now had a purpose too. He was going to uncover every secret that lay buried in the room that he had discovered in the morning!

Anon had no idea that a saga of never-heard-or-seen-before adventures was about to begin.

Outside the cave, it had started to rain again.

Twenty miles southeast of the cave, Zoe was still alone.

 

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Chapter 4: From the Apple Grove to the Knoll – Becoming Anon (Part I)

<<<Chapter 3: The Nameless Boy and the Cave that Wasn’t (Part II)<<<

When the boy left the cave, the sky was already starting to darken. This meant that in a little more than an hour, it would be pitch black in the woods. He looked up. The clouds gray and heavy were racing across the northern sky and then slowing down in the center. He knew it was going to rain again.

The boy quickened his pace.

He was wearing high-ankle leather boots that were a few sizes larger, an overcoat that fell down to his ankles, and a hat that had covered half his face. The hat was old and torn, and around the rim were many holes. If one looked closer, they could see that the overcoat and the boots were no better off, but in the last seven years nobody had ever come into the woods so what he wore really didn’t matter. He had outgrown his clothes long ago. His father’s clothes big, but they were comfortable.

He took the gravelly path that went around the hill of his cave. Only he knew about the existence of the path – others would have seen nothing but the undergrowth and the bushes that camouflaged it. The path took him halfway around the hill to the grove of the apple trees. His hill was one of the many that surrounded the mountain that he thought of as the Big Mountain. The grove of the apple trees was in the valley between by his hill and the big mountain.

He was sure he would find some apples there. They would keep him going until morning. All he wanted to do now was collect the apples and run back to his cave, so that he could spend the whole night in the secret room that he had discovered this morning.

He decided to take a shortcut and veered right. The shortcut was his way of sliding down the side of the hill to the grove. The hillside wasn’t smooth and grassy, so his first shortcut had left him with a pair of seat-less trousers.

After that terrible failure, he had invented the Wruff, which was a plank of wood with a handle in front. All he had to do was hang on to the handle tight. He got on it and as the Wruff flew down the hillside, he let out a happy yell…wheeeeee. It took him half a minute to reach the grove.

The grove looked exactly as he had imagined it. The storm they had last night had shook the apples off the branches.

Chapter 4 Part 1 - The nameless boy - apple grove - dog rescue - pet stories, dog stories, superheroes etc.

Several apples were lying in the grass, and many looked good to eat. He picked them up, checked them, sniffed them, and after tossing five of them away, he selected three. He deposited them into the pocket of his overcoat and prepared to leave.

Just then, the air around him filled with a strange sound. He had never heard that kind of sound before. It sounded a little like a wolf howling, but he knew for sure that this wasn’t really a wolf.

The sound was soaked in loneliness. It was a plea for help.

——— ¤¤¤ ———

Part II reveals our hero. Shhhh…! (A secret: If you love dogs…you are going to love Chapter 4 – Part II)

 
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Posted by on May 12, 2014 in Chapters, Super-heroes

 

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Stop and Smell the Roses – but be careful of the thorns! Beware of Habits that Kill.

(Note: Chapter 4 – Part I is coming up tomorrow. If you haven’t read the first three chapters, please find them in the sidebar.)

(Note2: This post is for the young reader.)

I am not posting Chapter 4 today, because I want to stop and smell the proverbial roses. You know that in my situation, I can’t smell the real ones – but of course, in the inspiring saying “Stop and Smell the Roses”, the roses are symbolic of stuff that’s nice. What it means is: Slow down! Don’t run so fast that all the beauty around you blurs away. 

And yet, when you stop to smell the roses, be aware that the most beautiful roses come with thorns. Sometimes the things that beckon at you and beseech you to step closer are pretty thorny when you get up close to them.

There’s stuff such as:

  • smoking
  • drinking alcohol
  • doing drugs
  • binging

All these are like those beautiful roses that pull us into a comfort-zone, making us feel high, fooling us into believing that we are just taking out time to stop and smell the roses by doing stuff that those other miserable people around us never do – we forget that all these roses come with poisonous thorns. This poison slowly but surely spreads into us,habituating and paralyzing us both physically and mentally.

So when you stop to smell the roses, stay at a safe distance. Find out if the roses that look so pretty, hide a slow-acting poison. If so, step back. You are better off NOT smelling the roses.

And remember that heroes don’t smoke, drink, binge, or do drugs.

I’ll let this pup do the talking.

Cartoons of Pups and Dogs - inspirational - Stop and Smell the roses - by Bobby Elhans

If you are wondering whether Cubby ever got out of that hole in the ground, return to read Chapter 4. It’s coming up tomorrow.

 

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From the Hideout: Why Publish a Book on a Blog?

I don’t know about all the other writers out there, but I am an obsessive storyteller who accidentally discovered writing as a medium to tell stories. A few years ago, I just happened to write a few stories, and discovered that writing stories could be a very interesting thing to do. As the written stories are immortal, I found writing to be a substantially more satisfying experience too. Since my serendipitous discovery, I’ve written short stories, adventure-serials, two novels, and two novellas. Have I published any? None. Why? Because of the perceived tedium involved in the publishing process.

I did check out Amazon, but I realized that unless you promote your stuff (or in other words, blow your own trumpet,) your book has near about zero chance of finding a buyer. I also read a lot of stories about reviews being bought (and sold) or swapped, and it all made me realize that I had neither the strength nor the resources to do any of it. I reflected on the situation and I concluded that I’d rather spend my time writing stories than trying to publish them.

I don’t know how much time I’ll be spending here in this iron-box that I euphemistically call “my hideout,” but until I am able to get out of this place, I’ll continue to publish the Adventures of the Heroes on my blog: Chapter-wise.

You’ve met Zoe, Cubby, and the Nameless Boy who lives in a Cave that isn’t a cave. Soon they will come together, with a couple of other equally disparate characters – and they’ll form a team, that will beat all other Super-Heroes of the world.

If you want to follow them on their adventures, follow this blog by clicking/tapping the Follow button in the right sidebar. The only condition for following is that you must think and believe that you are below 18. Those older-in-their-hearts could recommend it to the young in their families. I’d truly appreciate it.

I must now return to the story that I am writing for a competition. Cheer me on, please!

 

 
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Posted by on May 9, 2014 in At the Hideout, The Heroes

 

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From the Hideout: Every Dog Knows – To Hit the Mark, Aim a Little Above it!

Still here, but no grudges. I’ve been making cyber-friends who don’t talk to me but Like my posts, tweets, and retweets. It sort of makes me feel a little in touch with the thriving humanity outside this can of a place I am living in. As I said, no grudges.

I’ve never been a target-oriented hound of perfection. Never was, never will be. I think that the obsession to be perfect is the bane of the human-society. No other being is so driven by the need to hit the mark every time, all the time! Really. Let us talk about the writerly types. We obsess over punctuation and grammar all the time. I sometimes wonder why I should experience an acid reflux every time a comma decides to swap places with a period, or a “the” changes into “they”. It just squeezes all the fun out of writing, doesn’t it?

Here are a couple of target-oriented canines. Never before I had drawn a pup in the act of answering nature’s call – but the call to draw this cartoon came from within and strangely enough it helped me overcome my fear of drawing a peeing pup (PeeingPupPhobia?) !

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it. – Henry W. Longfellow

Pup and Dog Cartoons - a pup learns to pee - if you would hit the target you have to aim a little higher!

Incidentally, this Follow thing’s great. It helps you discover like-minded people both-ways. Here are few of the blogs that I discovered through this route.

Check them out – depending upon where your interests lie.  I’ll share some more links with my future toony blogposts. On The Heroes front, Chapter 4 is ready to roll off the line, and will be presented either tomorrow or the day after. If you are new here, please find the links to the chapters of the book in the right sidebar.

Returning to the topic of Perfection and aiming right, what are your thoughts?
Who are you?

  1. A Perfection Hound,
  2. A Just-Missed-the-Target Pup,
  3. An I-gave-up-on-Perfection Wise Old Dog?!
 

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Chapter 3 (Continued): The Nameless Boy and the Cave that wasn’t (Part II)

<<<Chapter 3: The Nameless Boy and the Cave that Wasn’t (Part I)<<<

(Continued from Chapter 3 – Part I)

But it would be dark inside, he thought.

There were a few candles somewhere in the cave, perhaps in the kitchen – he remembered how his mother used the lighter to light them up. Fortunately, the light-lever always worked and he never had to use them, so they must still be there.

He found the candles in one of the drawers near the sink. He took one, lighted it, and carried it back into the bedroom. Then he pulled out the brass key that he wore around his neck, and pushed it in the keyhole of the door that had tormented him for the last seven years.

He tried to turn the key in the lock, but it refused to budge. He tried again, clockwise and counter-clockwise both, but it nothing happened.

His heart sank. Perhaps it was the wrong key, but he couldn’t give up without trying, could he? The need to look at what lay behind the door gained strength from his inability to open the door.

He placed the candle on the desk to free his other hand.

He tried again, but failed. Either the key didn’t belong to this lock, or it didn’t open the lock the regular way.

Not the regular way?

His parents never did anything the regular way. Perhaps there was another way. The boy was uneducated but smart. He checked the space around the lock. Sure enough, this wasn’t a regular lock. There were twelve tiny holes around the keyhole.

He had an idea.

He ran back into the kitchen and brought back a small screwdriver. He inserted the screwdriver into one of the holes. It touched something, perhaps a disk that got pushed back by a few millimeters. He held the screwdriver in position, tried turning the key again. The key didn’t demand any effort from him this time, and he heard the lock open with a soft click.

He smiled to laud his own victory.

He pushed the door open. It was a heavy door made of metal. It opened into total darkness. The boy had no idea how deep this room, or recess, or whatever it was, was.

He was glad that he had thought of the candle. He picked it up and entered.

His heart beat faster as he looked around. The room was about thirty feet deep, and there were things that he had never seen before. Wooden shelves lined with books cast scary looking shadows on the walls, a huge table that was almost treble the size of the kitchen table stood in the middle, overflowing with books, parchment, lamps, and other objects that he could barely recognize.

Gingerly he walked around the table and reached his father’s chair. He placed the candle down upon the surface of the table. Oddly enough, there was no dust on the surface.

Then he lowered himself into his father’s seat.

Open in front of him was a handwritten, leather-bound notebook. He looked at it mesmerized. He couldn’t read, but he knew that it belonged to his father, and that made him feel sad and happy at the same time. He reached out and touched the pages of the notebook. Then he whispered one of the few words that he knew.

“Papa,” he said, his throat parched and his eyes stinging.

chapter 3 - pen and ink artwork - father's leather-bound notebook that the boy finds behind the locked door - artwork, illustrations.

He sat there for a long time, turning the pages of the notebook, looking at the drawings and the writing of his father. He wished he knew how to read and write. Faint images of his mother teaching him how to write faded in and out of his mind.

He pulled himself away from the notebook, leaving it where it was. Then he got up and walked around the table, trying to peer through the glass-doors of the cabinets. He wished there was light in there.

Perhaps there was, perhaps there was a lever somewhere. The way there was a lever outside for lighting up rest of the cave.

He came back to the table, picked up the candle, and starting checking the walls.

There it was, right next to one of the cabinets. It was smaller than the one outside. He pushed it down, and the place flooded with light.

He stayed in the room for a long time. He looked at the objects – glass containers, metal-strips, an extendible metal tube with glass at one end; he looked at the books and diaries, most leather-bound, some monogramed with an eagle.

He didn’t realize how long he had been there until he heard a rumbling sound. It took him a moment to recognize it as the sound that he stomach made when he was hungry.

There won’t be fish for dinner, but he could find something else – perhaps collect some berries or find some fallen fruits.

He knew that he wouldn’t sleep that night. His fear of the unknown room had disappeared completely. Now he didn’t want to leave it. With a heavy heart, he switched the light off and left the room.

——— ¤¤¤ ———

The nameless boy had no idea that his destiny was about to change, and that he was also going to get a name…very soon.

 
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Posted by on May 7, 2014 in Chapters, Super-heroes, The Heroes

 

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