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Tag Archives: pups

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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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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