Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #127

Entry #127
July 10, 2009

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the summery precincts of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the streets smell delightfully of things that only a Hound could love and I smell delightfully of things only my humans could love—or not. Based on the plethora of olfactory oriented comments this week I suspect that my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are cooking up another episode of Wimsey Bath Night. And just when my stink is starting to achieve its maximum potential, too.

And on the subject of grooming, as I previously mentioned my humans have been testing out the R-7 ear cleaning system and there is good news and bad news. The good news is, first of all, that I permit them to get anywhere near my ears with the stuff and the second is that it does dry out and prevent the dreaded and itchy Hound Ear Gunk--but only on the outer portions of the ear. I am definitely less itchy but the only way to get into the ear canal itself would be to pour the old ear cleaning solution that the vet recommended down the canal. I am sure this solution would work if only I would permit my humans to do it. Formerly when this product was used it was administered via cotton pads saturated with the stuff and squeezed into the ear canal. The consequences of my humans doing this were that they had to listen to many happy hours of me shaking my head and throwing myself against the walls and floors. (I can be quite dramatic when I am displeased). As a result my humans didn’t end up using the product with the requisite frequency (“Wimsey looks so happy. Do we really want to ruin his day with the ear cleaning solution?”). So they have switched to the more imperfect but doable R-7, with periodic professional ear cleaning at the vet’s.

Anyway, we had a wonderful Fourth of July weekend —I scored a real bonanza in the plastic bottle department—first there was this nice group of Hound lovers hanging out on their stoop. They were kind enough to empty their bottles and toss them my way in order to watch me play with them. Then I happened upon a bevy of police officers in the parking lot of the 20th precinct, many of whom were fortuitously armed with water bottles. When I politely produced some arresting sonorous bays directed at these bottles, several of them were promptly emptied and donated for my enjoyment. They really are New York’s Finest.

The weather here over the Fourth was very nice and as a consequence we spent quite a bit of time hanging out in Central Park where I made an exciting discovery-- trees are really just collections of sticks and these sticks don’t have to be on the ground for me to chew on them.. Maria took these pics rather hurriedly because she feared that the chewing of sticks while they are still actually attached to trees would violate some park ordinance resulting in a hefty fine. It’s a good thing that Hounds are not assessed penalties like the ones imposed at football games:

Wimsey’s Lexicon of Hound Penalties

Interference: interfering with humans trying to sleep, eat, use the toilet, take a bath, drink a cocktail, watch TV, use the computer, remain uninjured, have friends, remain clean, smell nice or have a life.

Out of Bounds: chewing under, around or through a fence meant to restrain the naturally investigative nature of the Hound.

Intentional Grounding: excessive exuberance when greeting. (also imposed for body slamming, particularly at the back of the knees)

False Start: eeling through a partially opened door to begin a constitutional sans Hound restraining equipment

Illegal Procedure: taking a conspicuous dip in Bethesda Fountain

Tripping: suddenly wheeling perpendicular to an oncoming human causing the human to fall over the Hound. Also imposed for lying at full stretch in the middle of the kitchen floor during meal preparation times

Encroachment: a stealthy maneuver whereby a Hound obtains possession of the couch without a human noticing that they are suddenly sitting on the floor

Holding: sitting on a human and refusing to move.

Clipping: Hounds never permit this maneuver.


Unnecessary Roughness: what a Hound does if clipping is ever attempted

Unsportsmanlike Behavior: the behavior of a Hound


There is actually a field hockey penalty called “sticks” which I suppose in my case would mean chewing on them when they were actually still branches.

Well after a lovely time in the park we all repaired chez moi for cocktails, pizza and a Star Trek DVD. (I am James T. Wimsey, Captain of the starship Couch…my endless mission to boldly annoy in ways no Hound has annoyed before...) Now Elizabeth discovered that trying to drink a cocktail, nibble nuts and watch a DVD is extremely difficult with a generously proportioned Hound sitting in her lap—especially as any diminution in petting was immediately met with a painful thwack of a giant paw or the application of gentle pressure on the internal organs. It was hard to tell whether the shrieks were due to the exciting antics of the crew of the Enterprise or because of the leverage I was bringing to bear on her various nerve endings. And the fact that she was forced to look at the screen by peering around or above my head lent that desirable air of theater-like verisimilitude. I really don’t believe that any DVD is quite as interesting as watching my head. I mean who wants to watch intergalactic space battles when one could be admiring my ponderous wrinkles or my lovely ear set.

Now a lot of people spent the holiday weekend traveling but those who stayed here indulged in the many cultural opportunities that New York City has to offer. For instance, we ran into this sign last week. I was very tempted to participate as the sign did say everyone was welcome and did not specify a species. And I excel at the chassé-- although I am not sure how they would feel about me chasse-ing the other dancers.

Also in Central Park over the summer there is Shakespeare in the Park. And as we were exiting the park yesterday my humans’ attention was caught by the sight of Meryl Streep walking towards us on her way over to the theater and my attention was caught by Meryl Streep walking towards us dressed all in white. Unfortunately I was walking in between my humans but they both quickly looked down at me and it was all “No Wimsey, there will be no flinging drool on theatrical legends. Especially those wearing white.” What can I say—where they see couture I see canvas. Anyway, I really like Shakespeare but I think some of his best lines could be improved:

Wimsey’s Guide to Shakespearean Quotes

What’s in a name? That which we call a Hound by any other name would stink as much.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps forth this heinous hound destroying all our possessions, dignity and self-respect. Out out annoying Hound. But he doesn’t listen—it is all sound and fury signifying nothing he is interested in listening to.

The lady doth protest too much methinks, after all she’s the one who got the Hound in the first place. And she can always buy new underwear.

If music be the food of love, bay on. And I will boil thee some more liver.

All the world’s a stage. And all the men and women merely players, controlled by their Hounds.

To bay or not to bay. That is the question. I think I’ll bay.

There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio that you ever dreamed your Hound could destroy

To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay there’s the belly rub.

Oh Hound. Hound. Wherefore art thou Hound? That silence cannot be good.

We are such stuff as dreams (or maybe nightmares) are made on

Parting with your possessions is such sweet sorrow

What a piece of work is a Hound

The fault dear Brutus is not in our stars but with our Hounds. They’ve trashed the place.

Out damned spot! Who would have thought the Hound would have so much drool in him.

Something is rotten in the State of Denmark and my Hound has rolled in it!


Well apart from the cultural activities in the park this week, I did run into an old friend—her name is Oreo and she is bigger than I am! And then while our humans chatted we had a little rest. Of course I seem to require lots of little rests on the path that leads to the exit nearest home. Also I find that on the way home there is much that urgently needs to be sniffed and sticks that it would be remiss of me not to chew. And benches that need to be climbed upon, etc. And when all else fails I simply flop down and refuse to move—a time honored houndly maneuver which brings a whole new meaning to illegal parking.

Anyway this week we finish up with our usual visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where we are examining the art of the second grade class of the Denali elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. Our first artist is Akaylee and hers is an anthropomorphic piece of surrealism entitled This is Wimsey on a Walk in Town. We note with interest the strong verticals of the work (phallic symbolism being unusual in an artist so young however they do say kids grow up fast these days) and the underlying volumetric symmetry of the two narrow buildings being equal in width to the third. But the seriously interesting thing about the piece is the rendering of me—I have the body of a Hound and the face of a happy little girl. Kind of like a canine Sphinx minus the headdress and ancient provenance and wholly consistent with the surrealistic school of early children’s art.

And we can also see a touch of the surrealist school in our next work, Siearra’s Wimsey Chasing a Basketball in the Green Grass. Here we see how the artist has rendered the construction of the work in a series of echoing curves—from the swayed back of the Hound’s black saddle to the roundness of his head (with forehead wrinkle prominently displayed—perhaps to emphasize the sagacity of the Hound) to the curve of the ball. We even have a little hoop with my name engraved on it. The picture is framed by the rectilinear elements of the sun’s rays and the green grass. We note with interest however, that the Hound seems surreally human—his eyes are blue and he appears to have humanoid pink lips--a very fine fusion of classical and surreal elements.

Well that is all for this week. I am off to dream about policemen bearing water bottles and erudite Shakespearean Hounds (and Meryl Streep’s pristine suit).

Until next time,

Wimsey, formerly of Stratford Upon Hound

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #126

Entry #126
July 3, 2009

Hello Everyone. It’s me, Wimsey, wishing you a Happy Fourth of July from that historic epicenter of the nation, New York City. In spite of the continuing cool, wet and sticky weather all systems are go here in the Big Apple for a spectacular celebration. And as is the annual custom, many of the City’s residents have gone elsewhere to celebrate whilst the people from elsewhere have come to New York City to celebrate. This population exchange never made much sense to me but I suspect it is illustrative of that old adage, the grass is always greener on the side you have been prohibited from peeing on. Not of course that my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have much luck in preventing me from peeing anywhere that I choose to pee.

And speaking of peeing (an activity right up there with eating cooked meals, being spoon fed Grom Gelato, and napping on the furniture) my humans really got into the thick of it this week. Now many people associate the month of June with any number of things—weddings, Wimbledon, school vacation, etc., but Chez Wimsey June brings The Annual Veterinary Physical. And I have to say I love going to the vet. From the moment I walk in and get up on my hind legs to check in at the counter to the moment I leave, the adulation is pretty much non-stop. It would be a perfect experience if not for some pesky activities like having to give blood (a misnomer, since I don’t actually give it—hounds not being amenable to giving anything willingly, even blood; we’re much more skilled at the taking end of things—the blood is forcible removed from me) and having my ears reamed out. This year the vet said there was quite a bit of “debris” in my ears which somehow made it sound like I was harboring the unfortunate consequences of a U-boat attack in there instead of the more natural material relating to my incessant Houndly perambulations around Central Park.

Things appeared to be looking up when my internal organs were being massaged and I was being gently poked and prodded but then the vet handed Maria a cup and pointed us towards the door. Apparently a urine sample was required and if there is one thing I am abundantly endowed with (apart from the visibly obvious thing) it is urine. But I must say I found it extremely disconcerting that every time I lined myself up along a desirable vertical surface Elizabeth would squeal “Quick, he’s about to do it!” and Maria would dive under me, cup at the ready-- all of which was so distracting and annoying that I would be forced to lower my leg without having produced any of the desired precious bodily fluid. Now peeing is one of my favorite activities but this was a real buzz kill. And their urgency was patently absurd—it is not as if I ever run out of the stuff (I pride myself on my superior marking prowess, even after many hours in the park I never run dry or need to engage in embarrassing air marking). And then of course there was my natural Houndly tendency not to do anything that my humans want me to do, even if it’s something I normally enjoy doing, like peeing.

Anyway, they eventually obtained the required sample and we all headed back to the office, my humans proudly bearing forth the cup of golden liquid like Jason coming home with that coveted fleece. And then to compensate me for the ear reaming, the blood sucking needle and the humiliating pee collecting I was taken for a delicious cup of Grom Gelato. And as usual my gromming attracted the attention of the citizenry (“I see your Hound likes the good stuff” and so forth).

The joy of the vet visit was somewhat overshadowed by this week’s dismal weather-- we had quite a lot of rain and thunderstorms which meant that I got to debut my new raincoat. I have to say once I shook my head and freed my ears from that ridiculous hood, it wasn’t all that bad. I always pride myself on my conspicuous and eye catching appearance and being caparisoned in a swath of bright yellow vinyl only adds to the stunning visual effect. It was only a shame that there were not more people about braving the elements to admire me, although I did get a fair number of people to stop and gawk in the pouring rain. And the fact that my coat collection has invaded Maria’s scarce closet space is also a source of satisfaction, Hounds by their nature being an invasive species.

Well the other thing that June brings is Wimbledon and as I now spend my afternoons with Elizabeth I have been treated to a couchside seat to this event. Frankly I don’t understand the point—here’s this nice bouncy ball being thwacked about and the players are chasing it only to send it back to someone else to chase. And Elizabeth sits mesmerized watching this for hours-- as if she is viewing a room full of squirrels playing with a raccoon or something actually interesting. And she thinks I am mentally challenged. Anyway, Wimbledon isn’t all bad because Elizabeth keeps one hand on the remote and one hand on me scratching, in a most gratifying way—especially during the exciting tiebreaks. I would like to attend Wimbledon myself but am told that this would not be a good idea:

Reasons Why I Would Not Be Welcome at Wimbledon

I wear black and tan instead of white

No one else would be wearing white either

Strawberries and cream would vanish from people’s tables

The grounds would be well marked, only not with signs

The Centre Court spectators expecting to see tennis would see roaching instead

Players would have a hard time playing with just one tennis shoe

Balls would be snatched mid-point

If Rafael Nadal were playing he would have help tugging at his shorts

Baying would render the score inaudible

John McEnroe wouldn’t be tennis’ only bad boy

Mount Murray would be given a whole new meaning


Anyway in honor of our great Hound loving nation turning 233 tomorrow I thought we should review how it all came to be:

Wimsey’s Guide to American History: The Early Years

Jamestown 1607: Hoping to make lots of money for clothes fancier than those of the French king, King James I sends a bunch of city folk to exploit the uncharted wilderness of Virginia. Sadly the land already belonged to the Indians who were mighty cheesed off at this turn of events and captured the colony’s leader John Smith. Smith was spared execution through the good offices of his Hound who charmed Powhatan’s daughter Pocahontas (the words for “He’s so cute!” in Algonquin being lost to history) and offered to help the Indians find an abundance of juicy animals.

Plymouth Rock 1620: The Pilgrims, who were first kicked out of England for their religious beliefs and then out of Holland because of the stench of their Hounds, arrive in Massachusetts. They established the first civil government in the New World and while not always the most tolerant people on matters of religion, they display a deep affection and tolerance for their Hounds.

1754: The French and Indian War: The French and the English who had at this point been pretty much fighting for seven hundred years have at it again, this time in the New World. The French lose (a disturbing trend since 1066—too much fashion and foie gras perhaps?) and are forced to forfeit not only Canada and all lands east of the Mississippi but also their Hounds who fall under the protection of that rising military (and hound loving) star, George Washington.

1764-1767: Taxes, Taxes and more Taxes: King George, having spent a boatload of cash to once again vanquish the frogs, needed a new source of dosh, so Parliament began taxing all kinds of stuff in the colonies—sugar, stamps, glass, lead, paper, tea, etc (Sugar Act, Stamp Act, Townshend Act) which seemed reasonable to the Crown since beating the French never came cheap, even in the colonies. But it was a rumored tax on Hounds that galvanized Sam Adams’ Sons of Liberty (an offshoot of the original Hounds of Liberty) and caused the Virginia House of Burgesses and Hounds to bay “No taxation without representation.” Apparently the Brits feared that the rough hewn colonials would swamp Westminster with their stinky Hounds should they be accorded parliamentary representation.

1773: The Boston Tea Party: A group of rambunctious Hounds (accompanied by humans in fancy dress) trash a British ship containing tea to protest British meddling in colonial business affairs. Parliament, who clearly had no experience of how to manage unruly Hounds, enacted a series of punitive measures which only made the Hounds (and their humans) even more stubborn and riled up. They should have tried positive reinforcement. In addition to everything else, the British measures mandated the use of the Gentle Leader on all Hounds. It is for that reason they became known as The Intolerable Acts.

1775-1776: The Revolutionary War Begins and the Declaration of Independence is Signed: The Declaration, largely drafted by Thomas Jefferson was read to the Continental Congress--a body where large stinky Hounds were welcomed-- and made official on July 4, 1776. One has only to glance at the document to appreciate the influence of these Revolutionary Hounds—the inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, for instance, are key tenets of Houndly philosophy (especially the pursuit of happiness part).

1783: The Treaty of Paris: The Brits finally pack it in and return to the much more satisfying mission of annihilating the French. Fighting a guerilla war with the uncouth Americans and their legions of stinky and harassing Hounds proved to be just too much. It was bad enough that the Americans refused to wear brightly colored clothing and stand around in organized formations waiting to be shot, but their Hounds did serious damage to the supply lines and personal possessions of the troops. Lack of food and holes in one’s britches are demoralizing.

1787: The Constitution: Here we clearly see the impact of Hounds upon the Founding Fathers. Undoubtedly they had observed the havoc that an unchecked Dominant Hound can wreak on public order but that this Hound could be controlled by a pack of Hounds. And when the pack of Hounds got too frisky it was observed that a small group of Supreme Hounds who, quite exceptionally, have some brain cells, could step in and administer corrective nips. Thus was born the concept of checks and balances.

1803: the Louisiana Purchase: Napoleon needed money to fight the English (la plus ça change....) so in a real estate deal that would make Donald Trump weep he sold a vast stretch of territory west of the Mississippi to the fledgling US government for a mere $15 million (the price of a moderately nice New York City apartment). Hounds heartily approved of the transaction because there were rumors of abundant fur bearing animals throughout the territory.

1804: Lewis and Clark: The Hounds of Lewis and Clark chewed their way out of their fenced yard and headed West after the rumored abundant fur bearing animals. Lewis and Clark spent two years arduously tracking these Hounds, during which time they saw lots of stuff and met a bunch of famous Indians. When they finally caught up to the Hounds the duo were heard to administer a very stern “Bad dog!” The Hounds ignored this and promptly started America’s first line of fur lined dog coats and hats.

1812: The War of 1812: Guess what! The English and French were fighting again! Only this time America got in the middle and ended up fighting yet another war with the Brits who, much like Jennifer Aniston, never gave up hope of reclaiming what had been lost. Many heroic deeds were done, the Star Spangled Banner was written (although after seeing what his Hound had done to the flag its original title was The Star Mangled Banner), the White House was burned (and not by the opposition party either!) and against all odds, the British lost yet again-- at which point they decided to permanently focus on foes whom they could actually beat. Like the French.

And the rest, as they say, is history. Well anyway, the only other news around here is that last Sunday I was accompanied on my long Central Park walk by yet another admirer—her name is Mary and she lives in Louisville, Kentucky and has a Bloodhound-Lab mix. (Here are some pictures of her succumbing to the temptation to play with my ears and wrinkles). I like having these visiting entourages and am hoping to see her again on her next trip here where perhaps I might introduce her to the joys of Grom Gelato.

We conclude this holiday post with the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art’s continuing look at masterworks from the second grade class at the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. Our first artist is Maurice with his dynamic Me Throwing a Stick and Wimsey Trying to Run and Jump and Get the Stick. Now personally, I love this piece, perhaps because it makes me look like an imposing black saddled dinosaur or perhaps because it is heavy on action. Here we see the artist using the Renaissance technique of including multiple time points in the same picture in order to tell a story—that of me demanding to have a stick thrown and then chasing it (notice the accuracy with which the artist never shows me bringing back the stick). He has clearly annotated the picture so there can’t be any misinterpretation of his work, a common problem amongst modern artists. Anyway this is a jolly picture—the sun is happy, the boy is happy and most important, I am happy.

Next we have another interpretation of a fetch scene: Isaac’s Me and Wimsey Are At the Front of the Hotel I Lived In Playing Fetch. First we note that the artist has divided the canvas in half—the green of the earthbound and the blue of the celestial. His abode, the hotel, seems to float off in celestial space, adding an immediacy to the earthbound activities, namely me awaiting the throwing of a stick. The artist has made particular note of my large feet—a feature much remarked upon in public—as well as my fine black saddle. The angle of my head indicates that I am probably about to bay for the stick to be thrown and the artist has chosen a fine orange for the sun to enhance the color of the pale blue sky and the yellow green grass. He has also chosen to include a small echoing and unattributed figure in the background which extensive academic research indicates is probably Gus, the resident bloodhound of Fairbanks, Alaska.

Well that was the week that was---hope you all enjoy your 4th and don’t forget to honor the contribution of the Hound to the Great American Story. Without us you’d all be having tea and crumpets instead of hot dogs and hamburgers.

Until next time,

Wimsey, An American Masterpiece
“Ask not what your Hound can do for you, but what you can do for your Hound”

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #125

Entry #125
June 26, 2009

Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey coming to you from my perch in front of the air conditioner on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Well the City continues to feel as if it is in the grip of some cosmic humidifier—all very nice if you happen to be a capybara or some other beast of the jungle but pretty terrible if you happen to be a sensitive Hound like myself. Even my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are wilting under this wave of airborne moisture. And the air conditioners in both their apartments have to run non-stop when I am in residence lest I not be able to nap in the perfect comfort to which I am entitled. Everybody is pointing fingers and talking about such things as persistent upper level lows or stagnant jet streams but I am pretty sure my humans are to blame—any being capable of tormenting me with ear cleaning solution is more than capable of ushering in noxious weather.

Evil Things My Humans Do

Insist in sleeping on my bed

Never want to spend more than 5 hours at a time walking in the park

Impede my hunting of succulent looking raccoons and ducks

Forbid me from jumping into the lakes and fountains of Central Park even when the weather conditions are clearly conducive to doing so

Resist my subtle daily requests for tuna fish sandwiches at the Loeb Boat House Café

Decline my invitations to stop by the Boat Basin café and drink beer at odd hours so I can lie down on the cold stone floor and get fed biscuits by the staff

Eat too much food thereby creating a shortage of leftovers

Refuse to run down the stairs to keep up with me

Insist that I wear a gentle leader while I am going down the stairs because they have a foolish fear of injury

Pick up the poop that I have spent hours carefully finding just the right spot for

Sit in front of the computer

Block my ambitions to hang out at the 20th precinct

Never allow me to hop into people’s taxis

Buy kibble


But things on the ear cleaning front have been looking up. Elizabeth, who clearly has far too much time on her hands (as evidenced by her compulsive shopping for new products, such as a raincoat, for me) has begun a new system of ear toilette before she comes and takes me out for my afternoon walk. She is testing the R-7 ear cleaning system which is a big improvement over having stuff poured down my ear (not that I permit this—the closest my humans get is to squeeze cotton pads saturated with the liquid into the ear. But they have to catch me first.). Anyway the R-7 system seems to be reducing the ear gunk and itching but I will let you know. Chronically gunky ears are the price we Hounds pay for our luxurious free swinging auricular appendages.

And in spite of the unpleasant weather I continue on my mission to entertain tourists—lately I have attracted the notice of the pedicab operators who seem to be on the lookout for me in order to have their clients take souvenir pictures of themselves with yours truly. Maybe one day there will be a statue of me in the park like the one they have of Balto. The plaque would read:

Wimsey: Bloodhound of Manhattan who heroically allowed himself to be photographed, fed, fondled, petted, fawned over, canoodled with, belly rubbed, admired, cooed at, raved about, kissed, played with and idolized by tourists from around the world.

Now I know I have written about the mesmerizing effect I have on people on the street (also on this butterfly which kept insisting on hitching a ride) but the humor of some of these mesmerizing experiences doesn’t really translate into the written word-- like the fellow who, in mid-cell phone conversation, looked at me and emitted a booming “HEEE HEEE HEEE HEE!” and then went back to his conversation. You just had to be there.

But I am also my extending my mesmerizing influence to local merchants. For instance, not only do I patronize Grom Gelato (gelato to the dog stars) but I aspire to visit a new natural products toiletries shop called Malin +Goetz that has recently opened on my corner. The folks inside are always very pleased to see me—albeit at a distance given what I could do to their shop in the course of giving it a good sniff. They generally know I am around because I usually bay at the traffic light across the street from them in order to encourage it to change. (It is a little known fact that baying at New York City traffic lights causes them to rapidly change from red to green). Anyway, I am sure my humans are thinking about whether a jojoba face scrub might keep me from importing bits and pieces of Central Park into their respective apartments or whether perhaps I might find a eucalyptus body wash refreshing. It would certainly make a change from being bathed with something called The Grimeinator. Why can’t Hound products have nicer names?:

Malin + Goetz + Wimsey

Organic Crème de Canard Dental Cleansing System

Pro-Rides Replenishing Facial Masque—encouragement de deep and luxurious wrinkles

Snood de Soie luxe ear protectors

Refreshing Citrus Contra Mycose Ear Wash

Mint Dentifrice Spray de Bouche for minty fresh drool

Polished Obsidian Vanishing Atoll Ear Weights (for the Hound who desires that extra bit of length)

Huile d’Avocat Pad Moisturizing and Toning Mousse

Self Rotating Malaysian Plantation Massage and Grooming System (formerly known as the Zoom Groom)

Gentle Deep Wrinkle Rosemary Cleanser

Vitamin E West Indian Mahogany Oil Coat Burnishing Spray

Soothing Peppermint Belly Massage Essence

Deep Cleaning Rainforest Shampooing (made with real endangered species!)

Polynesian Coat Replenishing Serum (for the bit that got chewed off in the dog park)

Detox Hound-- Hand Cultivated Pomegranate Air Renewal System

Systeme Relaxante Contre Hound (formerly known as the caipirinha--available in sizes grande, super grande and comatose).

As to this latter product, my humans heartily recommend it for smoothing out the rough edges of the calumnies and humiliations that occur in a day spent with a Hound. After one it is all “Wimsey’s really not so bad.” After two it is “Isn’t Wimsey a lovely Hound.” Three is not advisable as it results in “Hound. What Hound? I don’t see a Hound.” Who knew the waters of the Lethe were available for purchase at Beacon Wine and Spirits.

Anyway, I am sure my humans will be popping into Malin and Goetz to test out some of their lovely sounding products (any store that features neighborhood dogs on their website deserves to be patronized).

And speaking of testing, I have indeed been wearing my Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat and I think it definitely helps me stay more comfortable. I would prefer to be testing it in dry hot sunny weather rather than in cooler humid conditions but the New York City weather gods have not been cooperating. At the very least I think I look fantastically elegant in the coat and if a bloodhound in the middle of Manhattan is not conversation piece enough try a bloodhound in the middle of Manhattan wearing a cooling coat. So for all you big hunky Hounds out there (large animals retain more heat than smaller ones) you might want to give it a go.

Well this week we formally moved into summer and so once again the film industry is hoping to make movies that people actually want to see. So here is my summer movie list:

Imagine That: A fantasy film in which a human walks a Hound and it heels.

Away We Go: A Hound who has spent too many hours indoors is leashed up. Hilarity ensues.

Moon: A guy spends far to much time putzing about on the moon mining a gas that will solve the earth’s energy problem. A much cheaper alternative is found by harnessing the intestinal power of a pack of Hounds who have been snacking on foie gras with cream sauce.

Angels and Demons: A beautiful physicist, (physicists being among the world’s most beautiful people) and some esoteric idiot attempt to track down a secret society of Hounds, The Destructarati, by tracking clues left in their poop. The Society is kidnapping well behaved hounds who they consider freaks of nature and turning them back into their more familiar demonic form.

The Proposal: In this love story an overbearing boss is about to be deported and proposes that her assistant marry her. He agrees because he has no spine and there are simply no other jobs on the face of the planet but then he falls in love with her Hound and forgets all about the fact that he has to be married to such an unpleasant person. The Hound and the assistant live happily every after.

Night at the Museum: An inept security guard decides to let a Hound keep him company during the night shift at the Smithsonian. While he fantasizes about the exhibits coming to life the Hound chews up precious artifacts. There is a reason why Hounds are not permitted in museums.

Whatever Works: A desperate man is willing to try whatever works to control and train his Hound. Nothing ever does.

Up: Another desperate Hound owner flies away to a magical land where all possessions are placed out of reach of Hounds. The resourceful Hounds, however, illustrate why the movie should really be called Down.

Year One: A nightmare odyssey through the first year in the life of a Hound puppy. The Hound’s owner tries to stay calm by watching Biblical comedies until the Hound eats the DVD player.

Hangover: After babysitting a friend’s Hound for an entire weekend a human understandably reaches for the gin bottle one too many times.


Well I think it is time we scooted over to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where we continue our exploration of the art of the 2nd grade class at the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. I am quite partial to these works of art and the fact that they happen to be all about me has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Our first artist is Alexis and her piece, Wimsey in the Park and the Owner Dropped the Leash is notable for its dramatic vertical composition and for its strong element of fantasy: this off leash fictional Wimsey stands perfectly still under the tree and has not run off into the next county on the trail of something juicy, mobile and only questionably edible. We also note the emphasis on my black saddle and deep forehead wrinkle. The artist has added further interest to the composition of the piece through the use of a yellow triangular arrangement of bird, flower and sun, placing my head in the same plane as the bird and the flower to emphasize its appeal. A very compositionally sophisticated work for so young an artist.

Our next artist, Gaby, presents us with a Matisse inspired work, I Am Throwing a Frisbee and Wimsey is Catching It and Gus is Watching Him. The Gus in question refers to Gus, a bloodhound of Fairbanks, Alaska who I have never actually met but whose antics I have admired from afar. The moniker of his younger years—“Satan in a Puppy Suit” should give you some idea. Anyway here we have a picture that is a veritable riot of color, rhythm and joy-- from the big smile on the face of the human figure to the outstretched limbs of the stylized Wimsey. The artist has filled the work with an intensely rhythmic blue sky and the three figures seem caught in mid frolic, reminiscent of Matisse’s “Dance.” The figures look out at us as if asking the viewer to join them in their revels. Altogether a delightful piece of art.

Well that is all for this week—I am off to begin formulating the Wimsey Spa line of canine luxury toiletries (although nothing could really make us more beautiful than we already are).

Until next time,
Wimsey, New York’s Finest (Hound)

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #124

Entry #124
June 19, 2009

Hello everyone-- it’s me, Wimsey, the Roach King of New York’s Upper West Side. Now this title refers not to those ubiquitous little beasties that infest New York City apartments and bedevil their inhabitants, but to my new prowess in rolling on my back and flailing my powerful limbs. I have even perfected the Downhill Roach (wasn’t there a movie about a Downhill Roacher with Robert Redford?). And my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are astute enough to have noticed that I roach in directions in which I want to go and in directions that they do not—kind of a Stealth Roach. Before they know it they are someplace they don’t want to be. But roaching can be dangerous—not for me of course—but for any hapless human who happens to be in range of my super sized bear claws.

As it happens, on Wednesday I was being Zoomed with my Zoom Groom when I decided that the ultimate sybaritic experience would be to roach while being zoomed. Then Maria saw the opportunity to access some hard to reach bits when –wham!—I got her right in the eye. Fortunately no real damage was done (although a new “no zooming when roaching” rule was promulgated) but she had a lovely shiner. I did encourage her to place a nice beefsteak on it but she settled for a cold caipirinha glass instead. Of course getting biffed in the eye by your dog is humiliating under any circumstances but Maria had a company physical the following day. Oh to have been a roach on the wall:

Dr.: That’s quite a black eye you have there. Bar fight was it?

Maria: No Hound.

Dr.: Perhaps you tried to turn around in your closer sized apartment and walked into a door?

Maria: No. Hound.

Dr.: Perhaps it was your neighbor with whose turbulent and noisy romantic imbroglios through thin walls you have been entertaining your friends?

Maria: No Hound.

Dr.: Perhaps it was one of those spirited shoppers in Fairway who thought you weren’t moving out of their way fast enough?

Maria: No Hound.

Dr.: Perhaps someone on the subway clipped you with their climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro sized backpack?

Maria: No Hound.

Dr.: I’m sorry. This is New York City. There are thousands of legitimate ways to get a black eye and none of them involve Hounds.

Maria: But he was roaching.

Dr.: Why didn’t you say it involved roaches! They’re a New York City mascot.


Anyway, I am quite proud of this black eye as so many of the other bruises that I inflict are in spots that never see the light of day. It’s all part of the exciting life in New York City. This Sunday for instance the exciting Puerto Rican Day parade was held which meant that Central Park was too crowded for my usual Sunday jaunt so we all had a nice tow through Riverside Park—you can see the Hudson River in the background in some of this week’s pictures.

And as we walked by the Soldiers and Sailor’s Monument which is dedicated to the soldiers and sailors of the Civil War, I noticed this canon—one of several pointing across the Hudson that protects the Upper West Side from invasion by hostile forces from New Jersey. Or at least I hope from the garish Real Housewives of that state.

Well the Puerto Rican Day Parade is just one of many parades New Yorkers hold to celebrate their diversity. Naturally, I think there should also be a Hound Day Parade:

The Hound Day Parade

Wolf Blitzer: Hello Everyone. Thanks for joining us for this CNN Special Report: Manhattan Goes to the Dogs. I’m here with Anderson Cooper and we are taking a break from the usual mayhem and cataclysmic events from around the world with which we usually entertain you to cover New York City’s first Hound Day Parade.

Anderson Cooper: That’s right Wolf. You know what they say-- everyone’s a Hound on Hound Day! We’re told Mayor Bloomberg even lifted his leg on a fire hydrant in the spirit of the day.

Wolf: That must have been quite a photo opportunity.

Anderson: Yes it attracted a considerable crowd and we’re told former mayor Rudolf Giuliani had to be forcibly restrained from marking over it.

Wolf: Well he does have a reputation for having a competitive streak. But tell us about the parade—what’s about to happen.

Anderson: Right. First the Vienna Choirboys have been flown in to sing the Hound Anthem.

Wolf: I didn’t know Hounds had an anthem—I thought they just bayed.

Anderson: Well they do have an anthem; it’s from The Marx Brothers movie Horsefeathers. Let’s listen:

I don't know what they have to say,
it makes no difference anyway -
whatever it is, I'm against it!
No matter what it is or who commenced it,
I'm against it!

Your proposition may be good,
but let's have one thing understood -
whatever it is, I'm against it!
And even when you've changed it or condensed it,
I'm against it!

Wolf: That was very moving Anderson. Seldom does an anthem so capture the spirit of a breed. Those who have ever attempted to walk a Hound will certainly feel its veracity. And here comes Grand Marshall Wimsey carrying the flag of all the acceptable Hound colors emblazoned with the Group’s universal motto: If you have it I want it!

Anderson: Truly a symbol of unity through diversity—so many sizes, shapes and colors yet all Hounds with but a single thought. It’s very inspiring.

Wolf: And here comes the Bloodhound Float.

Anderson: Yes, you can smell it and hear it coming long before you can even see it.

Wolf: But it is quite visually arresting—it depicts the Hounds at work—shredding underwear, eating couches, digging holes and dragging humans.

Anderson: Duck! The Synchronized Precision Drool Flinging Squad is beginning its demonstration.

Wolf: Very impressive. And the float was sponsored by Grom Gelato which we understand is Wimsey’s favorite snack. And here come the Beagles!

Anderson: The Beagles’ tri-colored float was sponsored by McDonald’s and features tableaux vivants of beagles with their heads in the trash, beagles opening refrigerator doors and beagles running away from their humans on the trail of something more interesting. There is also a sculpture consisting of things not previously thought to be edible but that have all in fact been eaten by beagles.

Wolf: A very enterprising breed Anderson. And here come the Rhodesian Ridgebacks.

Anderson: There was some controversy over the design of their float—apparently Disney objected to the Lion King theme especially as the Ridgeback wanted to demonstrate how to hunt the character. So they settled instead for some handsome black leather with silver studs spelling out their motto: If you’re not supposed to be here, you’ve made my day. You can see some formidable Ridgeback specimens guarding the perimeter and watching the crowd for any sign of an incursion. Their float is sponsored by Kroll, by the way.

Wolf: But what of the sight hounds?

Anderson: Well they are here of course, but they are rather low key compared to the scent hounds. We do have a greyhound float sponsored by Futon World that features the breed lounging about—something they are very adept at doing. And there is the Borzoi float sponsored by Jennifer Convertibles that features them snoozing on leather couches, and then there is the Scottish Deerhound float sponsored by World of Tartan that features them napping on plaid sofas.

Wolf: What about the Afghans?

Anderson: Ah yes. The Afghans. They volunteered to be the comedy float this year—they’re going to do obedience.


Everyone loves a parade! Well let’s see what else is new this week. Owing to a stalled jet stream we are having damp and mostly cool weather so I have not yet had the opportunity to further test out my summer cooling coat. But my XXL raincoat did arrive, frankly much to my displeasure as you can see. It is seldom that my humans can capture so cheesed off an expression but I could not think of another way to demonstrate my sartorial displeasure. I am somewhat comforted by the fact that the coat is only intended to be worn during heavy pelting rainstorms in order to protect my delicate skin. Perhaps Elizabeth (whose idea the coat was) would also like a black eye. But at least my wardrobe is taking up an increasing amount of closet space—taking up space being a desirable Houndly attribute in whatever form.

And speaking of Houndly attributes, I noticed there is a book on the New York Times Bestseller List called Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man, but I think there could be a better book:

Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Hound

When out to dinner, don’t order the most expensive thing, order the largest thing.

When given a gift, make a big fuss then look around for the rest of it.

When an enticing male is interested in you, totally ignore him—both men and Hounds desire things that are hard to obtain

Always remember to keep your legs crossed when monopolizing the couch

If there is something you want find a way to get it

Be relentless in the pursuit of getting your own way and charming and adorable when you get it—that way people around you don’t feel so bad when they lose

Ignore rude people, like those who pat you on the top of your head and ask if you drool a lot

Own your space

Own the people in your space

Own anything you want to own in or out of your space

Presence and charisma work better than brute force

If presence and charisma don’t work, be sneaky. What people can’t see they can’t prove

Remember that nothing is ever your fault. Ever.

Make people laugh, they will hate you less


Coming soon, my new self help book: Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus, and Hounds are from Hell.

Anyway before I depart for my next week’s adventures we are going to pay our weekly visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where this week we continue to look at masterworks from the second grade class at the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. Our first picture is done in the primitivist style and is entitled I am Playing Catch at My House With Wimsey by Trenton. Notice how the interesting detail of the cropped hand seems to bring us face to face with the large and quite impressive looking Hound, his mouth filled with a the lovely ball he has just caught. We observe with pleasure that although the Hound is highly stylized—his handsome visage rendered much in the manner of an African mask which we believe the artist used as inspiration, probably from their last safari—he conveys the robustness and spherical acquisitiveness of the true Hound. A ravishing work.

Next we have a fascinating, minimalist work by Katelyn who is depicting an actual event from my life. While being asked to review a Cesar Millan video some months ago my humans decided that I should indulge in some pizza. Thus we have the scene immortalized by Katelyn’s work, Wimsey is Eating Pizza and Watching TV. See how the artist has stripped the scene to its essentials—against a stark canvas we see the Hound, complete with his fine black saddle, an assertive figure proffering the pizza, and Cesar Millan walking a pack of dogs on TV. Very pleasing echoing rectilinear shapes have been added in the form of a window, a table and a laptop (most likely where my blog will be read at any moment). A highly entertaining work.

And speaking of entertainment it is now time for me to interfere with that of my human by impeding her view of the TV.

Until next week,

Wimsey, a Hound of a different color

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #123

Entry #123
June 12, 2009

Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey the West Side Wonder Dog coming to you from the humidity laden island of Manhattan. Given the sticky weather we’ve been having around here my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth keep wishing that Manhattan could be moved like that island in Lost to a time when the humidity falls below 50%. I myself wish we could move the island to the day that bloodhounds first arrived at the monastery of St. Hubert:

At the Monastery of St. Hubert

Abbott: Come quickly Brother Jean! Come see what those heroic French crusading knights have stolen from the heathen!

Brother Jean: What the… I mean what in heaven’s name are these beasts?

Abbott: No one knows exactly. But I mean they have to be something good right? They come from the Holy Land. Why should the paynim be the only ones to have them?

Brother Jean: Hmm.. given the odor that seems to be emanating from them, are we sure that the paynim didn’t actually arrange for them to be lifted?

Abbott: Certainly not. I am sure they must be very valuable—they were being kept behind a high fence and their enclosure seemed to contain many valuable pieces of furniture and textiles. Also quite a lot of food that looked like it had been prepared for a banquet table.

Brother Jean: But is it ethical to fence Hounds—I mean it’s not exactly like the gold, jewelry and spices that we normally receive in tribute.

Abbott: I have no intention of selling them. We are going to breed them and then make sure everyone wants one. But of course we will only give them to the best people--for a large consideration you understand. Everyone wants what they can’t have. It’s called marketing. I admit, right now we wouldn’t be able to give them away, but before I am done every king and potentate of every land will be begging us for them.

Brother Jean: Gadzooks! You’re going to make more of them? But you saw what they did to the once elegant raiment of the knights. Also to their stores of rations and sweetmeats. And they apparently get very noisy when they don’t get what they want. Why would anyone want one?

Abbott: At the moment no one would. But apart from the fact that I intend to create the medieval world’s first status symbol, they do have the finest noses in Christendom.

Brother Jean: Yes, but they use these noses to find stuff to steal. I know they come from the Holy Land but are we sure they are products of heaven and not of the other side. Maybe they were sent to torment us?

Abbott: Naw, they’re too cute!


Well of course the Abbott did succeed in making my kind into the Lamborghini of Hounds and I am sure that everyone was so grateful to have obtained a St. Hubert Hound that they were in collective denial and would not possibly have dreamt of complaining about our little foibles.

Anyway, speaking about tormenting, this week we ran into a lovely young couple and the woman related the sad tale of her father—apparently the gentleman decided to upsize from a basset hound to a bloodhound under the misconception that a Hound is a Hound is a Hound. Now as you all know I am a modest fellow and I hate to brag about my breed but I have to admit to a certain rush of pride and pleasure in hearing tales of mammoth destruction such as those this nice young woman related. And her father lives in California where people not only have houses that can be trashed but also large yards that are available for creative landscaping. Currently this fine California Hound, having dealt with the house and yard, is hard at work eating its way through a sturdy wooden fence. Bravo! The woman also wanted to know whether my prong collar stops me from pulling. Maria, who has the good taste to love to talk about me, explained that nothing will keep me or any other determined Hound of my ilk from pulling. The choice of equipment merely dictates whether one will be dragged along the ground or have one’s shoulder tugged from its socket.

OK, before we proceed, you no doubt have noticed that in this week’s pictures I am wearing my Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat. Really the weather has been too cool to test it effectively but on Sunday it was a bit warmish so I decided to give it a go. I can report that it is quite comfortable to wear but further testing is necessary. The coat is wetted down with cool water and has to be re-wetted periodically—my current thinking is about every hour or so but more testing needs to be done to determine the best re-wetting interval. I am also concerned that the coat makes my butt look big. My usual black coat is quite slimming and it is possible that metallic blue is not nearly so flattering. (perhaps I should force my ladies to wear metallic blue trousers and see how they feel about the size of their posteriors).

But the first outing was a success and miraculously no one yelled about the fact that I was wearing a coat in the summer (New Yorkers being never short of an opinion about things relating to other people’s dogs and kids).

We did swing by Fairway for some grocery shopping where I generally hold court while my humans shop and only one woman asked about my coat. I always attract quite a bit of notice at Fairway and afterwards am vigilant about inspecting the grocery bags to make sure that the goods are of an acceptable quality suitable to my refined taste.

The other news around here is that I have a new schedule. Elizabeth now picks me up at midday for my afternoon walk and then I spend the day with her until Maria picks me up after work. This has meant more shared tuna sandwiches at the Loeb Boathouse (I like to get up on my hind legs at the counter to supervise the ordering—“he would like a tuna fish sandwich”—and consequently the Loeb Boathouse has begun to exert an almost magnetic attraction on me when I am anywhere in proximity.) And getting me to actually walk past the place sans tuna fish sandwich requires the services of a forklift. And on the subject of food sharing, a special shout out to the waiter at Arte’s Italian Café for racing out onto the street to feed me a breadstick. It was delicious. Maybe next time I’ll get a meatball!

The new schedule has also given me many more opportunities to resist coming in from the park. Now although I tow my humans into the park it has become increasingly necessary for them to tow me out. But in the meantime I employ an entire arsenal of delaying tactics and have recently added a new one to my extensive repertoire-- The Roach:

To Roach or not to roach-- that is the question. Whether t’is nobler in the mind to park one’s butt on a park bench and refuse to move

or to dislocate humans’ arms by charging in the opposite direction.

And by opposing them end their dreams of exiting the park.

To die—to sleep—or perchance to pretend to do so and thus create 126 pounds of dead weight

Immovable, implacable, unyielding.

Or to take into one’s mouth a sea of sticks, plastic bottles and juicy blades of grass

And by chewing, crunching and grazing end all hope of shuffling off to a speedy return home.

To bear the slings and arrows of outrageous pleading and by ignoring them, end them.

They won’t do any good anyway.

Why leaveth this pleasant country, so full of smells and small fast moving animals?

To roach or not to roach—Yes, to roach by all means!







And then after much pleading, whining and tugging (and trying to drag her into the Lake in pursuit of Duck a l’Orange, on the wing as it were) when we finally arrive chez Elizabeth I have a nice long drink—which I generously share with her—and then commandeer her kitchen floor for my Initial Post Walk Nap. Fortunately this nap coincides with her need to use the kitchen to prepare lunch so I am quite in the thick of things and she needs to employ the balletic skills of the Sugar Plum Fairy in order to keep from tripping over me. Eventually I migrate to my second nap station—the futon—but by that time she no longer needs the kitchen. The third nap station is generally on top of the newspapers she was intending to read but by then it’s almost time to rendezvous with Maria for another park walk and a meal containing food from Elizabeth’s dinner that she felt too guilty to eat because she knows how much more I enjoy her food than she does.

So all in all it’s been a pretty good week here in spite of the humidity—of course I am not the one who suffers from a bad hair day as my hair remains perpetually smooth and sleek regardless of climactic conditions.

But now it is time to visit the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where we continue our exploration of the art of the second grade class at Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. First we have the dynamic art of Sydney in an imagined work This is Me and Wimsey at Pioneer Park. The artist uses a wide ranging palette to depict what my visit to Pioneer Park in Fairbanks, Alaska might look like. You can see me on the left with my forehead wrinkled emphasized for extra drama and much in the manner of modern pop artist Roy Lichtenstein Sydney has elected to use text. I especially like the “good dog.” Perhaps the artist should have a chat with my humans. It is a very jolly and happy scene accurately evoking the joy of all who behold me.

Next we have a politically inspired work by Cameron, This is Wimsey Taking Over the Ferry which depicts me in mid-coup d’etat imposing Houndly rule on the Staten Island Ferry. Notice that the artist has elected to use the same color for both the sky and the sea implying a unity of Mother Earth and calling our attention to the progenitive possibilities of the strongly vertical yellow house with the orange tip—clearly symbols for the regenerative powers of our planet and the vigor of the usurping Hound. I am sure this work has the potential to rival the iconic poster of Che. Che also wanted to take over the world, he was just less successful at it than I.

OK, I think that is it for this week. My humans are hoping for drier weather and I am hoping for more Italian waiters.

Until next time,
Wimsey, the Cool Hound

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #122

Entry # 122
June 5, 2009

Hello Everyone--Wimsey here coming to you from another rain soaked Friday on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Well two weeks ago in anticipation of more hot weather my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth bought me a Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat. And do you know where that coat is now? Still in my closet, that’s where, because ever since it arrived we have been having cool weather. So in spite of the fact that they are itching to try it out (and I am itching to chew it up) the weather has remained miraculously under 75 degrees. Cause and effect? Who’s to know, but my humans are feeling distinctly cosmically thwarted, which is extremely pleasant for me to observe. We Hounds are about nothing if not thwarting human desires in any and all ways possible. Except when those desires directly benefit us of course.

So now, given the current climactic conditions, my humans have turned their attention to trying to find a raincoat large enough for me. For some reason they are getting tired of the great splotches of wet Hound that I leave about after a romp in the rain. And the arrival of a super sized raincoat is bound to herald a prolonged drought. At this rate the size of my wardrobe will exceed that of my humans’ which seems only to consist of smelly jeans and drool stained tee shirts—although this week I noticed that Maria had on a white tee shirt (you would think she would know better by now) and much to her consternation I decided to climb on her and decorate it with two jumbo paw prints you know where. I think Tim Gunn would have approved.

Well it has been an excellent week here nonetheless. On Sunday’s walk I was treated to an extensive session with the Zoom Groom which is a lot like getting a rubberized shiatsu massage. Given the amount of hair that came flying off of me, my humans astutely determined that I am blowing my coat—although usually when I blow my coat I blow it into Maria’s food, face and clothing. Blowing it in whacking great mounds in the park seemed like a total waste (except for the massage part) but I consoled myself with the fact that there is always plenty more where that came from. And then Elizabeth went scurrying back to her apartment to clean it up so I could arrive for Wimsey Bath Night and trash it again, which I did with my usual dynamic bathing style. But I did get to look longingly out at the river and the park before being hauled off into the abhorrent abyss of cleanliness.

However it was all worth it because on Monday I was taken to the 72nd subway stop to meet My Entourage for the Day—Marmalade’s human from Maryland and her visiting brother and his wife from Vancouver. It was fantastic! The greeting, the scratching, the admiration! And I got to show them around Central Park—kind of like being on a Wimsey safari.


The Wimsey Safari

Wimsey: Welcome to the Wimsey Game Park which locals also refer to as Central Park. First I must caution you not to annoy any of the wildlife-- I am the only one allowed to do that.

Guest: But can we at least take pictures?

Wimsey: Yes, with the proviso that I have to appear in all of them. Now first I want to call your attention to this very large old oak tree Quercus urinalis. It is one of my very favorites upon which to pee. Of course if you pee on it you will get arrested. Peeing en plein air is one of the many privileges accorded to a Hound by authority of the mayor. Anyway, notice how the tree trunk has many fine ridges into which the rivulets of pee can flow, thus dispersing the intoxicating scent. And with what else do you associate oak trees?

Guest: Acorns?

Wimsey: Correct! And as we all know, where there are acorns there are squirrels! So not only is this a fine tree upon which to pee but is makes a fine medium upon which to tree squirrels—although treeing them isn’t generally what I have in mind but Central Park squirrels develop exceptional speed. Now if you will quietly walk 20 meters to your left you will see one of the most exciting sights that the park has to offer.

Guest: A celebrity?

Wimsey: No, a herd of Homo picnicus peacefully grazing! Aren’t they magnificent? Look at the small one to the right holding the sandwich that could so easily be snatched. But a better strategy is to approach a herd of Homo picnicus respectfully with an adorable expression on one’s face and strings of drool hanging about one’s muzzle. This elicits their well known food sharing behavior and characteristic cries of “He’s so cute!”

Guest: Isn’t begging illegal?

Wimsey: Not for a Hound. In fact people are disappointed if you don’t. They feel you are casting aspersions on their taste in food ("But this foie gras is from Zabar’s!"). And sometimes you don’t have to beg—just the sight of you elicits food sharing behavior. Anyway, my nose has detected something that will interest you all I am sure—Canis minisculum maniacii --a wild puppy of Central Park!

Guest: I thought puppies were domestic animals?

Wimsey: Normally yes, but when they enter the Park they transform themselves into wild beasts. Especially when I bay at them and twirl around on my back in front of them. Then they pounce savagely and dig their little teeth lustily into a wrinkle and growl ferociously. I mean of course a lion is going to bring down an impala but how much more thrilling is it to see a fierce ten pound puppy bring down an enormous Hound?

Guest: Will there be much blood?

Wimsey: Well their teeth are pretty sharp but I promise not to wipe too much of it on you. And if we look to the left we will see a pair of Homo constabularis doughnutum. Very fine specimens they appear to be too. Notice their distinctive blue coloration and watchful behavior. They are among my favorite species in the park but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of them. If you try and do anything I do like peeing, begging or stealing they’ll arrest you.

Guest: But they don’t appear to have any doughnuts with them.

Wimsey: No. The "doughnutum" is something of an anachronism. Doughnut shops were overgrazed in the 70s and constabularis has since moved on to alternative sources of nutrition such as the grande latte. Now don’t move! Coming straight towards us is a pride of Touristii fannypackus and several of them are carrying plastic water bottles, a common behavior amongst this group. If you are very quiet you will observe them taking pictures of me—it’s one of their most characteristic behaviors—pictures of ridiculously large Hounds being highly prized in their culture. And if I speak to them in a forthright manner they are likely to relinquish their water bottles for me to play with. However, if you speak to them in a forthright manner they are likely to run away and call for help.

Guest: I had no idea the park was so interesting.

Wimsey: Yes, and now to conclude our tour I want you all to watch me dive into that big bush (Poopus crypticus) and poop. The first one who can find it wins a new squeaky toy.


Anyway, it was wonderful to walk about with this expanded out of town entourage and I was paid my accustomed guest tribute in the form of a cup of my favorite Grom Gelato (vanilla) and cadged some of Maria’s pistachio which I also consider to be very fine. The visitors also got to experience Dean’s Pizza (of which I was awarded two slices of pepperoni and extra cheese). The bath notwithstanding, I am hoping for some more visitors soon.

And when I walked them to the subway station and said goodbye another fellow decided he must have my picture and give me a nice scratch. I wonder why people say Hounds don’t belong in the city—I mean constant attention, 800 acres of park a few minutes away, Grom Gelato, gourmet pizza, a plethora of vertical surfaces, Hound friendly police, the occasional Hound loving celebrity, squirrels, ducks, geese and raccoons… what’s not to love?

Well before we check in at the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art, I received a very nice email from a producer of Animal Planet’s Breeds 101 who would like to know if there are any amusing stories about me or if I do anything special. Now this sent my humans into serious head scratching mode as just by my very nature (richly entitled and relentlessly relentless) I am a pretty entertaining fellow and being a giant Hound in New York City is pretty special. But they weren’t sure that baying at people and flinging drool on them exactly qualifies as a special talent. Here is what I would have sent:

Things that are special about Me

I’m really big.

I’m very smelly

I get very loud when I want something

I get very loud when I object to something you are doing or about to do

I like to sit on laps even though I don’t really fit

I like to sit on park benches even though I am not a person

I stick my head in people’s shopping bags

I produce copious quantities of drool

I can fling this drool really, really far (I flung some drool into the air, where it landed I know not where—but almost certainly it was on some poor, irate human).

Like Lord Byron I am “mad, bad and dangerous to know” (particularly the dangerous to know part—few humans escape proximity to me without sustaining some degree of damage)

I am really part tractor

I don’t care if you want to work, I want to be scratched

I don’t care what you want me to do, I only care what I want me to do

I like to be attacked by puppies—the littler the better

I am a passionate collector of plastic bottles

I like to ride in cars particularly when I can make frequent supervisory forays to the front

If it’s vertical, it’s mine

I am only alive because my humans have a sense of humor

I am an intensely self-actualizing Hound


But enough about me. That was a joke! Can there really ever be enough about me? I don’t think so. Even the lady from FedEx Kinko’s where my humans were getting more of my business cards with my picture made up was impressed by the intensity of my cuteness; and the plumber who came to fix Elizabeth’s shower this afternoon was impressed by my size—he finished the job and was out in the door in a nanoseconds (she’ll know who to blame if her shower explodes tomorrow).

Anyway, today our first masterpiece from the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art comes to us once again from the second grade class of the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. The artist is Kylee and she is depicting an imaginary meeting between myself and her teacher’s bloodhound Gus. The meeting is taking place in an elevator and we see the happy body language of the two Hounds and their unnamed human handlers. But really this painting is about color and rhythm—particularly beautiful are the patterns of clouds at the top border which are drawn with very elegant lines. And then we have the bold rhythmic color of the building itself whose shade of rose perfectly complements the blue of the sky. This is Gus and Wimsey meeting in an Elevator.

Our next artist is McKayla who has imagined me as a puppy. The title of the work is This is when you were a baby Wimsey and I didn’t know what you look like when you were a baby and you still look cute you are so cuddly. Now this is another artist who has a strong sense of line and rhythm—we note with interest the cross hatching of the grass and the strong lines delineating the canine figure. She references the nature of the figure by including my deep forehead wrinkle, my lengthy pink tongue and my black saddle. A touch of color is added by the orange stripe-the result of an infantile leg lift perhaps—that the artist added as a touch of whimsy?

Well it’s time to get toweled off from my last walk and have a long conversation with my stuffed squeaky dog.

Until next time

Wimsey, New York’s number one canine attraction (not counting Balto)

Wimsey's Blog; Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #121

Entry #121
May 29, 2009

Hello everyone. It’s me Wimsey coming to you from my temporary perch overlooking Riverside Park on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. I am a bit gimpy as I slid down some freshly waxed stairs this week, so my human Maria has sent me over to stay with her friend Elizabeth as Elizabeth’s building has an elevator. All of this means that I have had another human whose life I can disrupt, which is a source of intense pleasure to this large and stinky Hound. Elizabeth’s apartment now reeks of my delectable Hound scent, bits of kibble decorate her kitchen floor and an impressive array of drool art adorns her walls.

Better yet, on our afternoon walks I have been vigorously towing (being gimpy never prevents a Hound from towing) her over to the Boat Basin Café located on the Hudson River marina where she consoles herself with a beer while I flop down on the cool stone floors and am made much of by the staff and patrons. In addition to drinking in the afternoon, I have also introduced Elizabeth to the pleasures of an afternoon nap with a Hound. Thus she got to experience first hand the delights of the tail thumping you in the stomach dream and the paws running on your back dream and also the Hound squeaking and snorting in your ear dream, so I am not sure how much napping actually took place. At least for her. This attempted napping was something of a necessity because Elizabeth apparently doesn’t sleep well at night when at any moment she is under threat of being pounced upon by a giant affectionate Hound.

Now if you read last week’s post you know that I am about to become a Swamp Thing. A Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat was ordered for me because I am decidedly a Wilting Wimsey when the temperature goes much above 70 degrees (we Hounds are delicate flowers under all our wrinkles and drool). No sooner did the coat arrive than the temperature plummeted into the 50’s so I have not yet had the pleasure of trying it out, but I think that this weekend might provide an opportunity. Miraculously the thing does fit and I look very much the Space Age Wimsey in it (it’s a reflective ice blue). Maybe I will be mistaken for a space alien:

New Yorker 1: Run! We are being invaded by space aliens!

New Yorker 2: How do you know? This is New York City. Space aliens would blend in rather well here.

New Yorker 1: I’ve never seen anything like this before.

New Yorker 2: Well what did this space alien look like?

New Yorker 1: It had a long saggy brown face like melting wax and a metallic ice blue body and giant feet. It was also emitting viscous slime.

New Yorker 1: Are you sure it wasn’t just a Hound?

New Yorker 2: I don’t think ice blue is an acceptable Hound color. Of course I’d have to check with the AKC on that one.

New Yorker 1: What was the alleged space alien doing?

New Yorker 2: Well it was speaking in an alien tongue. I’m pretty sure it was saying “take me to your leader.”

New Yorker 1: Well then it couldn’t have been a Hound. They always say “I am your leader take me your food.”

New Yorker 2: Maybe I was mistaken on that but it was charging about. And rampaging. And scaring people-- except for the people who thought it was kind of cute.

New Yorker 1: That does sound like a Hound...

New Yorker 2: But why was he metallic then?

New Yorker 1: Perhaps he is an escapee from Project Runway.


Anyway, I could have used the coat this Sunday when the warm and muggy conditions meant that my multi hour walk in Central Park pretty much degenerated into my humans trying to find cool and leafy spots for me to hang out in. We did come upon a large picnic in the Ramble and my humans thought it would be fun to have a photograph of me admiring it. Unfortunately right after this picture was snapped I attempted to charge into its midst to the accompanying shrieks of “Wimsey, No!”—two of the most beautiful words in the English language. Whenever I hear them I know that I am about to have some serious fun. Sadly the combined tow weights of Maria and Elizabeth were sufficient to prevent the impending picnic invasion from actually occurring-- I find that most New Yorkers enjoy having their picnics crashed by a voracious, smelly and drool-flinging Hound. Personally I would like to see a photo montage of me annoying people in the park—the canoodling couples I try to get a good sniff of, the picnics I try to crash, the musicians whose instruments I would like to chew and of course the mimes who I know I could make squeal. But I have as yet been unable to persuade my humans to let me work my magic (or wreak my havoc) for the benefit of the camera—clearly they have no artistic sensibility. Or maybe they just don’t have any good lawyers.

But I did get to hide myself in the bushes—can you spot me? I think these bushes would make excellent camouflage :

Picnicker 1: Did you see that bush move?

Picnicker 2: What bush?

Picnicker 1: That large green one over there with the long brown ears.

Picnicker 2: I didn’t see anything. But something smells funny. Are you sure this cheese is OK?

Picnicker 1: What’s that noise?!

Picnicker 2: Probably just some coyotes.

Picnicker 1: There are coyotes in Central Park?

Picnicker 2: There’s everything in Central Park.

Picnicker 1: I’m sure I brought a quiche. It seems to have vanished. Why is there a slurping noise coming from that bush?

Picnicker 2: It’s probably the noise from the stream.

Picnicker 1: Is the stream yellow?

Picnicker 2: Maybe it’s someone’s national holiday and they dyed it to celebrate.

Picnicker 1: The sandwiches are gone too!

Picnicker 2: It’s stress. I am sure you just forgot them.

Picnicker 1: In fact the only think left of the picnic are the plates.

Picnicker 2: Were they paper or China?

Picnicker 1: China.

Picnicker 2: That explains why they’re left.


I don’t think the bush would be much help when I raid the laundry bin, I might have to get more creative for that one. But it is not so far fetched that I could be mistaken for a bush or a space alien. Now as I have discussed before, I frequently get mistaken for a pretty impressive variety of dog breeds and mixes, but this week set a new record. First on Sunday someone asked Elizabeth what kind of dog I was and Elizabeth—who to be fair does have a soft voice (except of course when she’s speaking to me)—answered “a bloodhound.” To which the gentleman replied, “Oh, a Boykin.” For those unfamiliar, this is what a Boykin looks like. Can you see the resemblance? The Boykin is 30-40 lbs and eager to please. Just like me! Now one would have thought that anyone who actually knew that Boykin was not the Yiddish word for boy would also probably know that if I were one I was a severely mutated one (or better yet, a Boykin from outer space!)

But at least the Boykin guy got the species correct. When Maria and I were out walking later in the week we were passed by two men, one of whom pronounced confidently to the other that I was a Red Bull. Granted my behavior has frequently been compared to someone who has consumed too much of that beverage and I am very large and I am quite red. And I do like to butt people with my head. But a bull? And they hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of my impressive tackle from behind! Still, I guess it’s better than being mistaken for a Shar Pei.

We also met a guy who was very excited to see me because he used to train bloodhounds. Now the funny thing is is that my humans knew immediately that he meant he trained bloodhounds for search and rescue not that he trained bloodhounds for the obedience ring. I mean apart from the sheer arduousness of the task, why would you? There are easier ways to make a living than trying to get one such as me to mind my p's and q’s. I would much rather steal your p's and q's (also your dinner and your socks) skills at which we bloodhounds excel naturally.

Well the other big new around here is that on Monday, Marmalade, one of our bloodhound blogging buddies, is sending one of her humans to New York City to see us. Perhaps I will be able to impress her human with my new Swamp Coat. Of course she will not get the full Wimsey treatment as plans are afoot to bathe me on Sunday but I am confident that I will find a few other ways to demonstrate my mastery of Houndship (like digging a few holes—it makes my nose a lovely color, don’t you think?—or invading a few picnics).

Now as in previous weeks, the Wimsey Institute of Houndish art is please to present masterworks from the second graders of the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. I am particularly pleased with this collection since I am the subject of all their pictures. The guiding principle of the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art is that every picture looks better with a Hound in it (my humans have thought of explaining this to the couples posing for their wedding pictures in Central Park as we believe I would make a fine addition to anyone’s matrimonial memories. And I show up particularly well against white satin).

Our first work is by Jerod whose Wimsey Driving a Motorcycle (inspired by a picture of me doing so in a previous post) has clearly fused the Renaissance concept of including action at multiple time points with the modern aesthetic of pop artist Roy Lichtenstein. This allegory prominently displays me at the helm of a powerful machine on the left part of the canvas. The artist has even included a self portrait of himself hanging off the back as I take off at speed. But then our eye is drawn to the action sequence denoted by helpfully drawn arrows that depict what happens when a Hound (who in the spirit of his breed is undoubtedly driving without a license) drives too fast. Sadly, I come to grief as all must who defy the laws of physics in favor of a fleeting dopamine induced surge of thrill seeking joy. Such a mature outlook in one so young.

Our next masterwork is Julian’s This is Gus and Wimsey—another fictive meeting of the Great Manhattan Hound and the Great Hound of the Yukon. Here we see life stripped to its essentials—sun, sky, trees and grass. However, in what would otherwise be a rather derivative painting, the artist has managed to convey the celestial qualities of these magnificent creatures by making them appear to float angelically above the earth. The artist has considerately placed no figures below who might be subject to the unfortunate consequences of one of the things Hounds do best so as not to mar the serenity of the scene. Both Hound figures look beatifically out at us as they meet in heavenly conclave. All in all, a very fine work.

Well I have temporarily been returned to the bosom of family (literally-- I like to drape myself on Maria’s torso) owing to the black circles under Elizabeth’s eyes which are becoming a cause for concern. But she has courteously sent me home with a supply of both boiled and roasted chicken to remember her by. Will keep you posted.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the Raging Red Boykin