Friday, March 30, 2007

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 10
March 30, 2007

Hello everyone. Wimsey here. Well my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are pretty impressed these days with my knowledge of Newton’s Laws (see entry # 9) and it’s been all “Oh, I see, so it’s really Newton and not actually Wimsey who is responsible for dislocating my shoulder. I feel a lot better about that” and ‘Gee, now we can calculate with mathematical precision the exact degree of pain that Wimsey is going to inflict on us. How useful.”

Anyway, all this knowledge has got me thinking (it is a scurrilous lie that bloodhounds don’t think) that there are probably plenty of other subjects where humans could benefit from their applications to the Hound. For instance, think of all the people from all over the world who want to learn English (Personally, I find baying to be a far more expressive means of communication, but I will be the first to admit that it is incredibly difficult to master. Clearly humans are interested in trying to learn, however, because so many of them attempt to bay back at me. I humor them, but frankly they have terrible accents).

But getting back to English, I mean really what is the point of learning to ask where the library is or which way to the bathroom or what time is it when there are so many more important subjects:

English Student: Your Hound is very handsome.

Professor: Thank you. Yes he is very beautiful.

English Student: May I pet your beautiful Hound.

Professor: Yes you may pet my magnificent Hound.

English Student: May I feed your gorgeous Hound a juicy hot dog?

Professor: I am sure my wonderful Hound would like a juicy hot dog.

English Student: Would your amazing Hound enjoy a large rawhide?

Professor: My gracious Hound would be happy to accept a large rawhide.

English Student: Would your splendid Hound also accept this ice cream cone?

Professor: Yes my resplendent Hound would like to eat the ice cream cone.

English Student: And would your angelic Hound also like this fluffy stuffed toy shaped like a duck that quacks when squeezed?

Professor: Yes, my delightful Hound is willing to accept that too.

English Student: And may I present your charming Hound with this bag of squirrels?

Professor: Yes. I am sure that my swift and graceful Hound will be able to catch all of them.

English Student: It is very kind of your knowledgeable Hound to help a foreigner learn English.

Professor: Yes, he is a terrific Hound: He is completely obedient and unselfish. He never paces, or sticks his nose in your food or steals your underpants or hides your brassieres or blocks the computer screen or slimes your glasses or burps in your face or fights you for the contents of the toilet or shoves you off of the couch or drags you through the park. Also, he is very intelligent.

English Student: Why is he making that very loud noise?

Professor: He wants your water bottle.

English Student: What a melodious sound. And what is the name of the refreshing fluid that he has flung in my face?

Professor: That is called drool. But there are many other important synonyms such as spit, spittle, slime, saliva and slobber. Let us now review the parts of the Hound…

And so forth. Anyway, all this has given me the idea of creating The Wimsey Institute of Houndly Studies—an Institute of higher learning possessing a broad curricular mandate:

English Literature: Comedies of (the Lack of) Manners and the Hound
History: The Hound and Western Civilization: Cause and Effect
Art: The Hound in Repose: Rare Masterworks
Mathematics: Fractals, Chaos Theory and Hounds
Music: The Art of the Fugue and the Bay
Biology: The Evolution of the Hound: How Did They Get That Way?
Chemistry: Drool: Chemical Composition and Novel Methods of Colloidal Dispersion
Astronomy: The Planets: What Do They Smell Like?
Dance: Hound Lake (guess what really happened to those swans)
Physical Education: Pacing for Beginners
Anthropology: Migration and Mayhem: Tracking the Ancient Migratory Routes of the Hound
Psychology: Masochism and Ownership of the Hound
Theology: Hounds of Heaven: Visions of Paradise in the Early Church.
Philosophy: 125 pounds of Hound, 123 pounds of bladder: philosophical thoughts and constructs.
Theater: “What Did You Do!!”: a new play in many acts.

The list of potential classes just goes on and on. The Wimsey Institute would focus on bringing a refreshing Hound Centric interpretation to scholarly topics far too long dominated by the narrow Homo Sapienonic point of view. I think I would quite enjoy being Professor Wimsey. After all, I already teach my humans so much.--like the locations of the nearest emergency rooms and which makeup covers bruises best.

But although I am busy contemplating my illustrious career in academia, I am still never too busy to enjoy the pleasures of early spring here in New York City. Yesterday I peed on the first crocus of the season and soon I will be snorting through the cherry blossoms that bloom so spectacularly in Central Park.

And Spring will once again bring a new crop of dense (and inaccessible) foliage for me to poop into. Now, I don’t mean to brag, but I Wimsey, have created a fascinating competitive sport out of these ordinary eliminatory activities so near and dear to the canine heart. (and intestines). Since here in New York City humans must clean up after their dogs, I decided to turn this otherwise mundane activity into a challenging new game of wits and agility-- much to the delight of my humans.

Basically the game goes like this: I discover places to poop where cleanup ranges from annoying (1 point) to totally impossible (10 points). It is my job to discover these places and it is my humans’ job to prevent me from using them. The game requires speed, attention to detail, quick thinking and a willingness to think outside of the box (or shrub). For instance, one of my most innovative 10 pointers is to poop atop a stack of cut branches thoughtfully left out by the Park Rangers. If I position myself correctly on the pile, the poop falls through the branches in such a way as to require the Army Corps of Engineers to get it out. And because Maria and Elizabeth are incredibly conscientious about scooping, watching them try to figure out new methods of retrieval is like watching the planning of the Normandy Invasion. So entertaining! Of course, since my humans understand the principles of the game, the use subterfuge to cloak my intentions is of the utmost importance. So it’s-- La la la it’s me Wimsey just walking, walking walking—quick, quick-- run up a steep hill that is covered in dense ivy, execute a quick pre-poop spin and voila—quick as can be another 10 pointer! And of course next time we pass that ivy patch it will be all shrieks of “ Hurry, stop him-- Wimsey’s heading for the ivy!” So unless my humans have a momentary lapse in concentration (which happens more often than you would think, given the alleged size of their brains) I must continuously uncover and devise new and ingenious locations and strategies. Fortunately, Central Park’s brilliant landscape designers, Calvin Vaux and Frederick Law Olmstead, were thoughtful enough to create an astonishing variety of vegetation and terrain-- so it is always game on! I am thinking of proposing this as an exhibition sport for the next Olympics.

Well, no one ever claimed that life with a Hound would be easy— just not boring. Anyway, time to get measured for my academic robes (I think black and tan would look rather nice).

Until next time,



Tadpole said...

Wimsey, my humble little mind can usually only catch one thought from each of your posts, and today it's PEEING ON CROCUSES!!! Woot! I love to pee on things too!

Boomer and his mom Carol said...


I would like to sign up for your classes. I would really like to learn about the hound drool and its powers.

I piddled on mom's freesia the other day, that was fun.

Princess Eva and Brice said...

Hello dear Wimsey! Eva here. It is fun to keep the humans guessing. And they can be so entertaining! This fixation they have with our poop is probably THE most amusing. If you need someone to teach a class on kitchen floor scavenging at your university, Tasha is quite the expert. Belly Rugs, Eva
P.S. I may be a delicate girl, but I drool and drip on the humans ALL the time! And I burp alot too.

Buster the Wired Fox Terror said...

It is our youmans' jobs to pick up our poop. They feel like failures if they cannot manage to. You may be giving the girls inferiority complexes. Deservedly so, of course.

Bussie Kissies

Opy - the Original GruffPuppy said...

Count me in for your classed Wimsey - I am sure that I could learn alot from you :-)


Sophie Brador said...

My Darling Wimsey,

Having just discovered the lost notes of Frederick Law Olmstead in my attic (probably misplaced during his design of Mont Royal), it would appear that he was a very enlightened man and indeed, approached his work from a truly hound-centric perspective (despite his dalliances in the suburbs).

In fact, it would appear from the sketches in the margins that the blood hound was to Olmstead, what the modular man was to Le Corbusier. I do believe there is one annotation that, when viewed through several magnifying glasses, almost certainly reads Vitruvian Hound.

It would follow, then, that your pooping rights have been designed into the very fabric of your park and are undeniable by anyone, including the NYPD. I will be publishing these pages very soon, should Maria and Elizabeth get a ticket. In the meantime, let the games go on.

Sophie Brador said...

.... and on another note, do you know of a dog-friendly B&B in NYC? It would be fun to bring Sophie with me on one of my short jaunts, since I frequently drive down.

Fu Fu said...

Hey Wimsey, Woh.. the students seem to have a pretty good time with you. So did you really get a bag of squirrals?

~ fufu

Nessa Happens said...

My Darling Wimsey -

I believe you are selling yourself short. Although certainly the hound is a worthy topic for discussion relative to nearly any genre of modern education, I see no reason why it should stop there. In my opinion, dogs in general and hounds (and newfs) in particular are fantastically well-equipped to TEACH the hoi polloi as well as be the subject of their learning.

Who could possibly be better suited to instructing young minds in the finer points of physics and higher mathematics? Every morning upon rising I calculate most exactly the amount of drool I will need to not only cover my papa's entire arm as it sticks out of the covers, but also to artfully slick his hair into odd shapes. I admit to drawing my inspiration from 1980's rock bands. Having done so, I proceed downstairs where I analyze air currents, distance, trajectory and resistance in order to flawlessly lob an enormous string of drool across the kitchen and right into mama's cup of tea.

Indeed, the only creature on the planet perhaps more qualified is the camel, as per Terry Pratchett in Pyramids.

"It's not generally realized that camels have a natural aptitude for advanced mathematics, particularly where they involve ballistics. This evolved as a survival trait, in the same way as a human's hand and eye coordination, a chameleon's camouflage and a dolphin's renowned ability to save drowning swimmers if there's any chance that biting them in half might be observed and commented on adversely by other humans.

The fact is that camels are far more intelligent than dolphins. They are so much brighter that they soon realized that the most prudent thing any intelligent animal can do, if it would prefer its descendants not to spend a lot of time on a slab with electrodes clamped to their brains or sticking mines on the bottom of ships or being patronized rigid by zoologists, is to make bloody certain humans don't find out about it. So they long ago plumped for a lifestyle that, in return for a certain amount of porterage and being prodded with sticks, allowed them adequate food and grooming and the chance to spit in a human's eye and get away with it...

[The camel] turned his long neck around. His great hairy eyebrows made accusing curves as his yellow eyes narrowed and took a fix on the high priest, and he put aside the interesting problem for a moment and dredged up the familiar ancient maths that his race had perfected long ago: Let range equal forty-one feet. Let windspeed equal 2. Vector one-eight. cud. Let glutinosity equal 7...angle two-five. cud. FIRE.

It was a magnificent volley. The gob of cud had commendable lift and spin and hit with a sound like, a sound like a half a pound of semi-digested grass hitting someone in the face. There was nothing else it could sound like. The silence that followed was by way of being a standing ovation."

Anonymous said...

Hi Guys!! Is Ingrid and Wyatt your old neighbors!!! Wyatt misses you a lot!! no big dogs around here to play with. We hope you are doing great! We miss you!!!!

Jilly said...


Thankyou so much for visiting my blog and your comments on Beau - your cousin indeed.

You are one beautiful doggy and I love your blog.

Jilly and Beau xxx

Peanut said...

You always give me something to think about Wimsey. My mom says she can see the smoke rolling from my ears after I read your blogs. Then she laughs. I know she has insulted me and I will get back at her.