Saturday, October 18, 2014

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #360

Entry #360
October 18, 2014

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you from my abode on the Upper West Side in the Great Houndopolis of New York City.  I hope everyone missed me---although absence does generally make the heart grow fonder I am often told that my absence makes the blood pressure grow lower.  As usual, you can blame my missing post last week on my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth who claimed to need their computers for the futile task of trying to make more money than I spend.  Elizabeth was hard at work on a “proposal” and I hope that she has more luck getting it accepted than I do my proposals. These proposals usually involve things like spending the entire day in Central Park or visiting every pet shop on the Upper West Side and then baying at the staff until they feed me snacks, and they usually fall on deaf ears (or those made deaf by their close proximity to an acoustically robust Hound).


Anyway, in the interim I missed posting about Columbus Day, which is traditionally celebrated by Hounds discovering the contents of the refrigerator, the garbage bin or the laundry basket. I also missed discussing the Bloodhound Nationals in Sacramento.  For the uninitiated, the Bloodhound Nationals are an event where people assemble from all over the country (and all over the world!) to show and admire bloodhounds (psychiatrists not included). For those of you who have normal breeds of dog, suffice it to say that the bloodhound is a creature that takes everything and gives nothing (hence the probable need for the psychiatrists) and whose invariable response to any human wish is a laconic “Don’t care”. (Although sometimes the more transactional among us will respond with “Whatcha got?”)  But of course we are very cute.

And also on the subject of the Bloodhound Nationals, I am sure that everyone was grateful that I was not there. Especially my humans.  Don’t get me wrong, there were aspects to showing that I enjoyed very much, principal among them the presence of Lady Hounds who at any moment could go into season and require the services of a romantic fellow like myself.  I also enjoyed the fact that all the usual instruments of Hound Control—such as harnesses, prong collars, Heinous Gentle Leaders and the like --were replaced by a string. I am 130lbs. Elizabeth whose misfortune it was to take me into the ring is not 130 lbs.  You don’t have to understand Newton’s Laws of Physics to appreciate that this situation seldom worked out well. At least for Elizabeth. And outside of the ring when I decided that I had an urgent need to, say, poke someone in the butt or ingratiate myself with a Lady Hound, the only recourse was for my humans to throw themselves upon me.

And then there was all the chicken that was liberally tossed into my gob under the misguided impression that I could not bay and eat chicken at the same time. Au contraire mes amis.  I can bay and do anything at the same time, including lie on my back. And then my boredom with the lack of all the exciting activities in which I wanted to engage made it obligatory that I protest at great length and with much vigor. And on the subject of this “bait” that was used on me (bait being the word humans use for all the desirable comestibles with which they attempt to bribe you) I was initially fed liver before it was determined that the liver was exerting a powerful form of organ meat mind control that left no neurons free for any activities (such as stacking or trotting around the ring) that my humans hope to engage me in.  In fact, so potent a force was this liver that it would cause me to turn into a very loud, very demanding cement lawn ornament with zero interest in anything not liver related. Suffice to say I livened up the show ring proceedings much in the manner of a rodeo clown.

But then it finally occurred to even my obtuse humans that I was much better suited to dragging them around Central Park in search of horse poop, stray sandwiches and frisky rodents than to prancing around in a show ring earning (or not) ribbons.  This was even confirmed by the animal communicator that my humans hired to help them figure out how to make me behave.  She told them that I was bored in the ring and that I could think of nothing that Elizabeth could do to entertain me except perhaps jumping up and down.  (Although in reality this latter activity would probably be more entertaining to the male spectators than it would be to me).

Well as many of you know, the week before last, Maria had a conference in Chicago which necessitated leaving me for a week with Elizabeth, which is always a welcome development. For me. Except that this time, Elizabeth had to leave me one night for a dinner meeting and one afternoon for a business meeting which displeased me greatly. I hate it when those odd smelling clothes appear (i.e., the ones that don’t smell like me) and she goes into her little dressing room and starts messing about with makeup bags. I have attempted to block her entry into that little room but have had limited success owing to the tossing of treats in the opposite direction.  

But other than those two unpleasant occurrences, I had a fine time—I hunted Little Teddy, the neighbor’s doodle, in the hallway, bayed to let the neighbors know that the elevator was taking too long to arrive and woke Elizabeth multiple times per night with ear flapping and exciting dreams that involved kicking the radiator. And after I woke her up for my morning walk, I took her down to the river and allowed her to buy me a pumpkin muffin in exchange for my letting her drink copious quantities of coffee. In fact it is really a good thing that the Pier One Café is in the park since I felt that the whole muffin purchase process took far too long and engaged in non-stop commentary to that effect the entire time.  And here we see a post-muffin picture of me at the end of the pier where I was cruelly prevented from following the scent that I was tracking by the presence of this obnoxious fence. As usual, I insisted that it be removed.

As is the custom on these visits to Elizabeth, there was the requisite application of gin and the flying texts between her and Maria.  And although Maria was at a conference where she was supposed to be learning about the latest developments in a software application, in reality she turned the event into a promotional tour for my Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art books.  It turns out that people were much more interested in looking at pictures of me and absorbing my views on European painting than in discussing business software, thereby demonstrating that humans are occasionally capable of displaying discerning and intelligent behavior.  
 
During my last sojourn at Elizabeth’s she took me over to vet’s where I hadn’t been in a donkey’s age (a couple of weeks at least) to get some fruitless professional ear cleaning and to do a vast battery of tests for my checkup. Everything, other than the stubborn and relentless nature of the yeast who have taken up residence in my right ear was fine. So now there is a large bottle of stuff with which to “flush” my ear which translates into, “put some on a pad and give Wimsey an ear massage and hope that some gets in” and a small bottle of other stuff whose directions read “Put 4 drops in affected ear daily” which translates into “chase Wimsey around and then give up.”

But anyway, Maria finally did come home and then we all went back to my place where a giant pizza with extra cheese was ordered for me to compensate me for the hardship of staying with Elizabeth. And this week Maria made the exciting culinary discover that the organic, grass fed beef in the hamburgers from the new gourmet hamburger joint on Broadway does not upset my tummy the way beef normally does! She was so excited by this development that on her last food run she forgot to order anything for herself other than French fries.  Of course there are worse things than dining on French fries whilst watching your Hound enjoy a meal of organic grass fed beef. Or so she told herself.  
 
And then last weekend our friends Virve and Juri came over from Finland to visit me. I always enjoying receiving visitors although I was hoping for another moose chew like the one they brought last time. There are only so many bully sticks one can consume.






Well I think we are more or less up to date on mostly everything.  On Wednesday Maria had to walk me alone after work because Elizabeth had a meeting in midtown. It was apparently such a successful meeting that Elizabeth came over afterwards with a bottle of wine to tell Maria about it. But I’m afraid Maria heard very little about it because my Houndy Sense detected that this conversation was not about me and I created a scene about being fed the cocktail nuts. Then when I got bored with that I started batting my tennis ball around the apartment and made Maria retrieve it from under the furniture.  This caused the conversation to switch from the success of Elizabeth’s meeting to the awfulness of me, which is my version of a successful meeting.  
 
One last thing—this is a picture of an “art installation” that for many days I found profoundly troubling.  I would stare at it and stare at it but it never moved. Finally I snuck up on it and smelled its tush much to the amusement of passersby--my humans were too slow with the camera to capture the moment when I realized that it is inanimate. Hey, you can’t fool me, I’m a bloodhound!

Until next time,

Wimsey, organic, grass-fed Hound



 

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #359

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Entry #359

October 4, 2014



Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey, coming to you finally from the soggy Upper West Side of Manhattan where it has been a busy two weeks for myself and my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth.  Both of them are away today getting groomed so I am snatching a few hours (like I snatch everything else that I want) to report on my doings.  On the subject of their grooming, I will remain silent—I was never a fan of this process myself and in their case it is particularly pointless since no one notices them anyway.  Elizabeth did force me to bathe this week but I pride myself on having extracted a very large amount of turkey in return. I especially like when she covers the futon in towels afterwards to absorb excess moisture from my body and I use the towels to make a comfy pillow for my snout instead.



But I digress. A couple of weeks ago as you know, I spent a whole four days with Elizabeth whilst Maria was off visiting her mother. This was quite delightful, at least for me.  I was only able to report on the first day or so with her but I am happy to report that I continued my morning habit of climbing into bed with her at 7am whereupon I either snuffle her face or loom over it and drip drool all over it or lie down on top of her or sit next to her recumbent form and thwack her for some scratching. Not that I necessarily need to take care of any business at that hour, but her windows face the park and all the alluring scents and sounds are too potent a temptation for a park loving Hound such as myself.   

And while she gets dressed, I make myself comfy amidst her pillow and bedclothes leaving them marked with my indelible scent and secretions. I only deviated from this routine on one morning where instead of climbing into bed with her I grabbed my loudest toy (known as “Monster”) and granted him the honor of announcing my availability for my morning walk.



On one morning the nice lady who runs the Pier One Café opened early and I got to consume a muffin or croissant whilst Elizabeth slurped coffee and tried to recover from her encounter with Monster. It was all quite delightful, especially when Maria returned Sunday evening smelling like her mother’s excellent cooking. Several days later two gift boxes of Hungarian cookies arrived specifically for me, which was wonderful except when Maria tried to poach one.  I don’t understand why she wants to eat my cookies when there is a whole bowl of kibble at her disposal instead.



Elizabeth also took me to the vet, where through some medical miracle, I had not appeared for several weeks. The staff tried (unsuccessfully) to rid my right ear of the yeast farm that had taken up residence and I had an extensive amount of lab tests done on all my bodily fluids.  I was given a clean bill of health and my humans were given a large bill of costs. There is talk of getting me another ultrasound to check up to see how my prostate is enjoying life. I always look forward to that test since it seems to mostly consist of a warm gel belly rub and is a huge improvement over someone sticking their finger up my bum. I am not a fan of this latter procedure which ranks right up there with the cutting (or not) of my nails.



Anyway, the good news is that I will once again ensconce myself at Elizabeth’s on Tuesday and will remain there for the entire week while Maria is disporting herself on a business trip to Chicago. And as is the way of these things, especially according to Mr. Murphy and his Law, Elizabeth’s Swiss client will be arriving that Tuesday night for some important meetings on Wednesday which means I will be left alone again. The whole leaving me alone situation has proven so aggravating that Elizabeth is no longer permitted to enter the little dressing room where she puts on her makeup (makeup only being worn on those horrifying occasions that do not involve me) without encountering the Wimsey Stink Eye. I am considering blocking off that room entirely.

 

It also appears that Elizabeth will be having Important Phone Calls on the other days that I am in residence which means that I will be having Important Squeaky Toy Talks, Important Loud Snoring and Kicking the Radiator Naps and Important Notebook and Face Drool Flinging.  Elizabeth has already told Maria that the week will be hell, but a human’s hell is a Hound’s heaven, as anyone who has spent time with any of us is well aware.



And speaking of this issue, it has come to my attention that there have been a variety of posts and complaints in the various Bloodhound groups griping about our propensity to be destructive. I am sure that people think that such behavior is limited to their Hound, but I want to assure everyone that, au contraire, it is pretty much a breed thing. We are an old and barely changed working breed who wishes to be out following scent with every fiber of our being and every strand of our DNA. We are designed and programmed to be finding juicy boar for affluent medieval tables not hanging around in expensively landscaped yards or lounging on cushy couches (unless the latter activity occurs after a long hunt for the juicy boar). 



Add to this, that apart from being on the trail of desirable comestibles, we get bored easily. We are not in fact well designed for modern human life at all (or at least those lives that include intact possessions).  Now everyone says, “Oh but Wimsey is so well behaved.” But apart from the fact that I always tell people to define their terms  (“well behaved” and “Wimsey” being seldom used in the same sentence by my humans) I am Maria’s third Bloodhound.  In the ten or so years that my predecessors were with her they pretty much managed to destroy everything she owned (with the exception of some books that she cruelly locked up in heavy glass- fronted bookshelves). The destruction included such unconventional materials as her makeup (which she returned home one day to find her Hounds wearing) and the contents of the kitchen shelves owing to her Hounds’ discovery that chairs can be moved into appropriate positions to serve as ladders to the larder. It took ten years, but she learned what to do.



With me, having Elizabeth as a volunteer caregiver was also a great help—Elizabeth being all into evolution and fulfilling the nature of the Hound and such like and especially in determining that letting me track whatever took my fancy at the terrifying end of a 20 foot leash for hours and hours every day in the 858 acres of Central Park was probably a requisite for the continued existence of intact couches. And although I have never actually found juicy boar in Central Park, it wasn’t for want of trying. So if I have been (mostly) at the low end of the destruction curve, there are sound reasons. But one cannot wholly extinguish the Nature of The Hound and Maria has no cookbook collection or feather pillows to prove it. And Elizabeth still remembers the day I TP’d her apartment (NB: I was not a puppy at the time). But the jury is still out as to whether it is more obnoxious to steal food or to demand, as I do, that it be hand fed to me in pieces cut to my liking.



And in a similar vein, as those who read my posts know, I have instituted an ongoing Wimsey Bribe-a-thon program. Any activity in which my humans wish me to engage, irrespective of whether I want to engage in it or actually demanded that I engage in it in the first place, is a Bribable Activity. Bribable Activities require that I either ascend a handy piece of furniture or glue myself to the floor and refuse to budge unless something delectable is waved in front of my nose.  But whereas in the past I have allowed myself to be lured off the handy piece of furniture or off the adhesive floor, lately I have introduced the policy of the Pre-Bribe. Pre-bribing requires that I be actually fed some of the brandished delicacy first in order for me to weigh its worth against the inconvenience of me doing what my humans want. I mean what happens if, upon judicious consideration, I am more in the mood for duck heart than for turkey? I might also add, that as far as my demand for regular outdoor snacks while walking, don’t even think about giving me one half of a snack that is usually broken in two. I may have a pointy-head but I am adept at the arithmetic that tells me which snacks are broken or cut into how many pieces.



This is all a very longwinded way of saying that we Bloodhounds are “special” dogs and that we require equally “special” humans who delight in the shock and awe of our awfulness. But we can be inspirational animals too. For instance, when life hands my humans one if its inevitable setbacks they are wont to ask, “What would Wimsey do?” And one thing Wimsey would not do is give up.  (Just the thought of doing such a thing so antithetical to to my existence is shudder-inducing).  If an object cannot be gained by the inexorable wearing down and outlasting of an obstacle then a different approach must be devised for circumventing it.  It is one of my enduring grievances, by the way, that the kings of England and France sported such sobriquets as “The Fair” and “The Bold” and “Coeur de Lion” but never The Hound or Coeur de Hound. If John I of England had been John the Hound he never would have lost all of England’s French possessions. Hounds do not lose their possessions. We cause other people to lose theirs.



Anyway, before I sign off for this week, I want to congratulate everyone who participated in the Bloodhound Nationals. I was hoping to include a word or two about my stellar behavior in the show ring but I fear that pleasure will have to wait.  The rain has stopped, the sun has come out and I am waiting to see if this produces some yard time with its attendant coat muddying possibilities. I want to look and smell my best for my visit to Elizabeth next week.



Until next time,



Wimsey, a special amongst specials








Saturday, September 20, 2014

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #358

Entry #358
September 20, 2014

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you as usual from the Upper West Side of Manhattan but ensconced for a long weekend in my secondary apartment several blocks away from my normal crib. My human Maria left for a long weekend on Thursday to visit her mother leaving me with her friend, Elizabeth, who normally only looks after me during the day when Maria is off at work.  Elizabeth is off at work too but in her case her office is conveniently located in her apartment and well within snouting and drool range of yours truly. And whereas sadly I cannot interfere with Maria’s work (at least not directly), I have free rein (or leash) to do so at Elizabeth’s. This week I took her to one of the out of the way pet stores where I had previously purchased my brown dinosaur and she tried to buy me off with a blue dragon—the theory being that I would amuse myself with the blue dragon and allow her to work. Like most theories concerning my behavior this one turned out to require some modification since the amusement consisted of me pushing the dragon at Elizabeth and squeaking it in her face.

Well I always have a tremendous time when I stay with Elizabeth because she is so easy to annoy and being annoying is one of the principal reasons for my existence. Or so I’ve been told.  Now one of the most important aspects of being annoying is understanding your target annoyee. For instance, I like to annoy Maria by being independent so she thinks that I don’t care about her and I like to annoy Elizabeth by being so attentive that she requires regular recourse to the gin bottle. Unfortunately Elizabeth had to leave me for a few hours on Thursday evening to go to an event at a Champagne bar in Tribeca that she claims was work related (in much the same way, I imagine that I might say an event in a butcher shop is work related) and I was most put out by this.  And whereas when Maria leaves me alone it’s a big snooze fest (literally) Elizabeth’s leaving me alone calls for some retaliatory action. Generally I like to move things around or shred some mail and such like just to let her know that she’s done wrong.  I also like to induce the guilt to which she is susceptible by being near the door when she comes in and then pointedly eating and drinking my untouched food and water.  But after she returned this time she inspected everything and nothing was missing or shredded so she concluded that maybe I am maturing.  That lasted until she went into the bathroom and found that the bathmat had changed its location.  Also that it had sprouted hair. Black and tan hair.

And then of course there are my nighttime activities.  I can confirm to anyone interested, that taking Ambien is ineffective when a Giant Hound is having an exciting dream and kicking the radiator or when he is sleeping next to the head of the bed and emitting periodic clouds of pungent digestive gases.  And then, as is my custom when staying with Elizabeth, somewhere near 7am I get up, flap my ears loudly, stretch, have a nice refreshing drink of water and then climb into bed with her to let her know that I am ready for my walk.

Both Elizabeth and I are sorry that we could not go to visit Maria’s mother as well, however.  We all did this several years ago and Maria and Elizabeth were reminiscing about our visit.  My favorite part was all the delectable Hungarian food I was served (Maria’s mother is an excellent and prolific cook and baker) and also having Maria’ s mother hand strip meat off of Buffalo chicken wings for me.  Elizabeth’s favorite memory is of walking down the long hallway at our hotel in search of ice and looking down and finding me quietly and, for the one and only time in my life, heeling at her side, sans collar or other Hound control equipment.  Then there was, the look on a fellow guest’s face as she emerged from her room to see Elizabeth walking a Giant Hound down the hallway by his dewlap instead of by a leash. She flew back inside. Maria’s favorite memory was of her mother refusing to feed me dessert crepes until they had been properly warmed up. But the hallway escapade ranks pretty high on her list too.
 
Also this week I experienced a “crise de nub” as the French would say.  In addition to noisy blue dragons, the other way Elizabeth tries to buy peace is by the liberal dispensing of bully sticks.  But I like to turn bully sticks into nubs and then throw them around and play with them and fling them places so that Elizabeth has to crawl around on her hands and knees to retrieve them.  Well this week I lost my nub and made Elizabeth hunt with me through my vast toy pile and under the furniture to no avail (nub hunting being another time wasting activity with which I plague Elizabeth’s life). My humans concluded that I had probably eaten the nub and forgotten about it because I am basically stupid. So when Elizabeth woke up on Friday morning I left the newly found nub prominently displayed in the middle of the rug for her admiration.  It will make her crazy trying to figure out where I found it.  Elizabeth immediately texted the exciting news to Maria that the errant nub had been found. It is a pleasure to be able to bring meaning and excitement to my humans’ otherwise boring and desolate lives. 
 
Well I have to apologize for being late with the post this week—Elizabeth started looking rather peaky last night so I prescribed a medicinal gin and tonic and had to monitor the results. Unfortunately all the relaxation was undone this morning because at about 6am I began having a vigorous series of dreams that required me to kick the bed repeatedly.  Then I’d wake up, flap my ears, fall back asleep and repeat.  I did climb into bed with Elizabeth as usual at 7am but by this time she was already awake so it wasn’t as much fun as usual.  We spent a lovely couple of hours down by the river and stopped for a muffin and coffee which I enjoyed very much and left a pool of drool to prove it.  There is talk this evening of mai tai’s and Forgetting Sarah Marshall which Elizabeth hopes will turn into Forgetting Wimsey Bloodhound and make her think she is back in Maui instead of on her couch with me.  As if.

Well it’s a short post this week since Elizabeth has huge piles of work to do which means that I have huge piles of work to do making sure that she cannot do it.  Oh, and lest you think that my being annoying is limited to my actual humans, think again. Last Saturday evening I was standing around outside my building “chatting” with some friends when someone leaned out of their window and shouted “That’s obnoxious.”  I don’t know, I think the sound of me is rather pleasing. Anyway…

Until next time,

Wimsey, The Alarm Clock Hound
 



Friday, September 12, 2014

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #357

 
Entry #257
September 12, 2014

Hello Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey, coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where fall weather just might be starting to creep into the seasonal rotation. This doesn’t mean that my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have abandoned air conditioning me totally, since I like frosty conditions, but it appears likely that their electric bill will soon be in for a break.  Just in time for a bout of Indian summer I think.

But first things first.  Those of you who read last week’s post or took a look at Facebook know that at long last my lazy humans have gotten around to publishing my book (s) The Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art on Amazon and that a celebratory meal was planned. Although this was supposed to include a piece of poached salmon for me from the fancy fish store, it was decided instead to order a giant pizza with mushrooms and extra cheese. Well this was fantastic and there was drool aplenty, so it was a good thing that we ate in the yard. Or rather that I ate and my humans attempted to eat in between cutting up delectable morsels of pizza and hand feeding them to me.  We famous authors should always be fêted and feasted as befits our stature as literary luminaries. 

Elizabeth has just begun sending out press releases in the hopes of getting newspaper book reviewers to take a look at my masterpiece. The received wisdom on this is that these august personages do not review self-published books. However, my view of this is that none of these other self-published books ever had me in them. I mean who could resist me? Clearly no one on the Upper West Side. This week a lady crossed the street to tell Elizabeth that she lives down the street from me and always enjoys hearing me bay. And she didn’t even qualify it by adding, “Except when he meets Pluto at 6 am.” I am the toast of the town—it’s just that the rest of the town doesn’t know it yet.

Anyway, the (supposedly) impending fall weather brought Elizabeth’s StitchFix box which was much anticipated.  StitchFix is an online personal shopping service that Elizabeth tasked with finding Hounding clothes for her (us) that were inexpensive (i.e. those that you don’t mind seeing splattered with drool and miscellaneous organic matter), washable and were not tee shirts and jeans.  I closely supervised the opening of this box and I was not impressed. Not the least of which was because it turned out not to be a box of toys and snacks for me. The nerve. 

Anyway, StitchFix sent a baggy blue tee shirt (I guess because the racks of them in Elizabeth’s closet were insufficient or they considered that baggy ones are more chic than those that actually give her a shape) which promptly went in the return bag. Next there was something dubbed a “knitted coat” that struck myself, Maria and Elizabeth (and trust me, we never all agree on anything) as perhaps the ugliest garment ever made.  Where to begin. It was huge (it was a size small in the same way that I am size small when compared to a pony. OK, well maybe a horse)—little Elizabeth looked like she had been swallowed whole by a blueberry. The sleeves came beyond her fingertips and it had giant pockets on the hips, in a spot where no pockets should ever be. Then Maria, who is much taller tried it on and it was equally misshapen on her and by some fashion miracle, those pockets were still on her hips too and the sleeves hung down over what she likes to call “her monkey arms” (the better for reaching me when I do not wish to be reached). I was hoping that this item would end up in my toy pile but it too was sadly banished to the return bag.
 
Next, we had a pair of black leggings. OK, they are not jeans but same idea. Elizabeth kept those for which I am very grateful as I like the way my drool looks on black. Next we had this black and white woven faux sweatshirt thing which was a marginal upgrade from her blue fleece hoodie and finally, there was a messenger bag.  This was requested as Elizabeth is going to experiment with abandoning the giant black fanny pack that she needs to carry because of all the stuff that I require when perambulating about town.  Personally I think the bag is going to end up in a pile of poop when she bends over to scoop, but we will see. 

Anyway, Maria is planning on ordering office clothes from StitchFix so I will have another box to inspect and critique. I was so inspired by all of this (I love fashion so long as it’s not me that’s wearing it) that I crashed New York Fashion Week which was going on behind me in this picture. I somehow managed to get onto the Lincoln Center Plaza and join a crowd of fashionistas exiting down a ramp, at the bottom of which were girls handing out fliers for an upcoming show.  They were so busy staring at me that they forgot to give me my flier which I was cruelly prevented from obtaining on my own.

OK, so all that was pretty exciting, but there’s more! This coming Thursday Maria is going to visit her mother for a long weekend and I am going to visit Elizabeth for what will seem like a much longer weekend. At least for her.  She has already done some serious shopping in the liquor store and broken out the bottle of Ambien from the medicine cabinet in anticipation. And better yet, I will be back for an entire week in October when Maria goes away on business to Chicago. We are going to have so much fun. Well I will, anyway.

So, from time to time (or all the time, depending on your point of view) humans do things so idiotic as to make it incredible that Hounds do not rule the earth.  This latest example of human foolishness comes from a professor at Arizona State University who did a study and then published a paper on the astounding discovery that dogs prefer people who pet them to people who praise them.  Now first off, Hounds do not listen to humans on any topic. Period, and secondly if a human is praising a Hound then the Hound has done something seriously unHound- like and could probably use a refresher course at the Wimsey School of Houndly Deportment.  So for anyone who has not yet realized it, here are a few more items to add to that list:

Hounds prefer someone who feeds them to someone who pets them.

Hounds prefer someone who feeds them the lunch they are eating over someone who feeds them that rubbish in the kibble bag.

Hounds prefer someone who is inattentive about stuff left on a kitchen counter to someone who is vigilant about stuff left on a kitchen counter.

Hounds prefer someone who will chase them because of the stuff they stole that was left on the kitchen counter to someone who is too lazy to chase them because of the stuff they stole that was left on the kitchen counter.

Hounds prefer someone whose refrigerator door is easy to open to someone whose refrigerator door is padlocked.

Hounds prefer someone who they are able to shove off the couch to someone who gets up voluntarily.

Hounds prefer people who will sleep on the couch rather than disturb them when they are ensconced on the bed to bed hogs who will try to share the bed.

Hounds prefer messy people who leave items of clothing lying around to neat people who hide items of clothing behind closet doors or in closed drawers.

Hounds prefer people who think they are wonderful creatures to people who know that they are entitled and manipulative brats.


Well you get the idea—I could go on at length on this subject, but seriously, if a professor can get paid to do a study like that, what is next, a groundbreaking treatise on “”Dogs prefer to chase squirrels rather than to get a bath”?

Anyway, I am off to rest up for my stint of being the perfect houseguest (not).

Until next time,

Wimsey, The Pestatarian