By CJ Frost
Hank was a hound dog and Hank loved to do what hound dogs do best – they howl!
Hank would howl at the moon, and just to be fair, he would howl at the sun too! Basically, Hank would howl at just about anything and everything.
One day Hank’s Dad came to Hank and said: “You’re almost a big dog now, son, maybe it’s time to go out and find a home of your very own.” So Hank packed up his spare collar and a couple of his favourite squeaky chew toys and set off to find a home.
It wasn’t long before he found himself lost in the Great North Woods. He was scared, and lonely and hungry. So he sat down beside a mud puddle and started to howl. In no time at all he was surrounded by about eleventeen Drooly Dwarfs because he just happened to be sitting and howling smack dab in the middle of downtown Muddy Bog – the home of about eleventeen Drooly Dwwarfs.
Once all the hullaballoo had got itself sorted out and Hank had some supper with the Drooly Dwarfs, they told him that in the morning he should take the path to the Bleak Bramblywood. He would know when he got there because all he had to do was turn left at the last dead tree.
So the next morning he had a good breakfast and said farewell to his new found friends, the Drooly Dwarfs. After going along the path to the Bleak Bramblywood, Hank got to thinking, how the heck was he going to know which dead tree was the last dead tree!
Then he happened to notice a sign on a tree beside the path it said: “Not quite the last dead tree”. A little farther on he saw another sign that said: “Almost the last dead tree”.
It wasn’t long at all until he came to a great big sign with flashing lights and music and the sign said: “The one and only genuine original last dead tree – please turn left.” When Hank turned left, he couldn’t believe his eyes – there was a small cottage in a grassy meadow with a shade tree and a stream nearby.
He was so happy he started howling which was when a little old lady wearing a pointy hat and an eye patch over one eye came running over to Hank and asked: “Lord-love-a-duck, ya curled my toes and knocked my socks off. Where on earth did ya ever learn to make such a noise?”
Hank said he was a hound dog and hound dogs howl “and I happen to be looking for a home where I can howl.”
As luck would have it, the little old lady just happened to be Wilma the wily one-eyed witch of the Bleak Bramblywood and if Hank promised to ride on her broomstick with her and howl up a storm on Hallowe’en, then this would be his howlin’ home.
So, if you ever happen to be wandering along the path in the Bleak Bramblywood on a moonless midnight near the time of Hallowe’en and you hear a howling that curls your toes and knocks your socks off, please tell Hank I said hello.
My name is C.J.Frost, and I know this story is true – because it is!