Bobo Hotentot

Bobo was dashing around, singing the song of his people.

In the summer of 1960, our parents allowed us five kids to get another small pet, besides George the parakeet, and our goldfish, named Throck Morton P. Guildersleeve, Jr. (Junior, for short). We chose a chubby little guinea pig, who my father named Bobo Hotentot. It was assumed that this little guy would be a nice, quiet pet. Bobo slept in his cage, in my brothers’ room. Unfortunately, Bobo liked to “sing” in the middle of the night, “Wooooeet. Wooooeet.” Somehow, we convinced my parents to let us keep him, anyway. He was a great pet! He liked to run around on the lawn, in and out of cardboard tubes we’d found.

That summer, we took in a stray dog, as well, and were allowed to keep him in the backyard, until we found the owner.

One day, my father decided to show us how to hypnotize chickens (it can be done). We had cages in the backyard with a few hens we were watching for a friend (because god knows, we didn’t have enough animals, by now). The dog was on a leash in the front with me, and I was holding Bobo. My father took a chicken, held it on it’s side, head sideways, on the ground. He took his other hand, and with a stick, drew a straight line in the dirt, in front of it’s eyes. He let go of the chicken, and the chicken was frozen in place. It did not move. He did this with three more chickens. They were all lying there, still, until I opened the side gate. Me, the dog, and Bobo came in, at which point, the dog saw the chickens and barked, Bobo freaked out and bit my finger, I freaked out, dropped Bobo, and let go of the dog’s leash. The dog made a beeline for the chickens, my father was yelling for someone to “get the damned dog!”, while frantically shoving the chickens back in the cages. Bobo was dashing around, singing the song of his people, “Wooooeet! Woooeet!”

I picked up Bobo, my brother got the dog, the chickens were fine, although I’m not entirely sure they ever laid eggs again. I think my mother was laughing so hard, she couldn’t breathe, and my father stood, looking at us, and shaking his head.

It was at that moment, I understood what life, in a real three-ring-circus, was like.

Sharon Hudson 2024