Friday, July the 23rd, 2004
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A Google search for Dobson yields no less than 1,150,000 results. Of course, a handful of these purport to be about other Dobsons, rather than the out-of-print pamphleteer himself. Having examined all the pages with a fine tooth comb, I am breathless in my admiration for Dobson's skills as a master of disguise. He has somehow managed to continue his subterfuge from beyond the grave, which is some feat, as I am sure you can appreciate. But it was ever thus. Four days after his death, a balaclava-clad farmyard person swore an affidavit before a provincial solicitor that he had seen Dobson squatting behind his pig hut, scribbling notes into a ledger, but that when he—the farmyard person—returned with cronies, to accost the wraith, “Dobson”, if it was he, had vanished, leaving only a toothpaste tube from which much of the paste had already been eked, and a sinister plasticine duck, possibly intended to be a bufflehead, the head of which was squashed by the farmyard person's mastiff, by accident. Was it Dobson? Probably not, but who can say for certain?
Inspired by the Ronald Reagan Legacy Project, whose aim is to “name at least one notable public landmark in each [US] state and all 3,067 counties after the 40th president [i.e., the Potus]”, Hooting Yard is setting up the Dobson Legacy Project. No city, town, village, hamlet, or cluster of shabby rural buildings ought to be without its very own Dobson Boulevard. I implore all readers to fire off a letter to their local bureaucrat this very minute!