Wimsey's Blog Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 22
June 29, 2007

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here. Well, I am quite disappointed to report that I did not get to show last weekend--although I did get to have my usual terrific time at Wimsey Bath Night. The mounds of hair that I am capable of ejecting should be declared an eighth Wonder of the World (the Great Pyramids of Hound Hair, the Colossal Hound Hair of Rhodes, The Hound Hair Library of Alexandria, the Hanging Gardens of Hound Hair, etc) and better yet, it’s an endlessly renewable resource! I wonder if Hound hair can be used to replace fossil fuels. (“Oh look, the car needs more fuel; I guess its time to brush Wimsey again.”). None of this messing around with corn and switchblade grass and such—anyone who has ever lived with a canine can tell you that dog hair is a plentiful and inexhaustible resource. Plus, it’s ever so much fun to grow and to harvest. I am sure that some breeds would even produce a high octane hair—Jack Russels for instance. Anyway, I have always been intensely concerned with the environment—I thoughtfully fertilize vegetation whenever I can (I am a veritable walking bladder) and believe that soil needs as much aeration as my four dainty paws can provide. And of course, I try to leave as small a carbon footprint as possible (as compensation for the giant actual ones I leave all over people and furniture). But in spite of this, my human Maria believes that I am a major cause of global warming, particularly when I sit on her. And there is always the ongoing issue of methane gas emission… (“A heat-seeking, flatulent Hound is not helpful for global warming.”)

Now people in New York are also very concerned about the environment and Mayor Bloomberg has unveiled a plan to try and make New York as green as possible—very appropriate as Elizabeth (a friend of my human’s) says that when she worked on Wall Street she noticed that there were a lot of New Yorkers who wanted to have as much green as possible. And of course I would hope that New York would not just want to be green but Wimsey Green (green being the color that best shows off the red in my lustrous coat-- I insist my attendant humans wear it as much as possible.)

Upper West Side resident #1: Gee, our neighbor Maria always seems to be wearing green. Do you think she is really a leprechaun?

Upper West Side Neighbor 2: No, I think she is too tall to be a leprechaun—it would have to be the little one who is always hanging around here. Anyway, I think that big dog makes them wear it. He seems to have very firm ideas about fashion.

Now this is very true, but I have every right to be vain (although is it vain if you really are amazingly handsome?) In fact, only this week a passerby stopped Maria and told her that I was the most beautiful thing on the block (and it was a landmarked block too!) Maybe I should be land marked. ((“I’m afraid we can’t cut Wimsey’s nails—changing his exterior is against the law”)). Anyway, some fashionistas like to accessorize with Prada handbags and I like to accessorize with green-clad humans.

But on the subject of Mayor Bloomberg, all New York has been speculating about whether he is going to run for president:


David Frei: Welcome everyone to the Washington Invitational; the first of many events over the next eighteen months to showcase this year’s candidates. We should have quite an exciting line up for you here this evening.

Lester Holt: Yes David, it’s the first show of the campaign season and highly anticipated. Let’s watch:

Announcer Dave La Fave: May we have the Republicans into the ring please.

David Frei: This should be interesting. Many consider this group to be real underdogs this year. They’ve gone Best in their last two outings, but you know how judges like to see change. Let’s see how they do tonight:

Announcer Dave La Fave: The Giuliani is feisty—some even say combative—vocal and fiercely intelligent. It is said to be affectionate and humorous with its family although it can be harsh with its enemies. The Giuliani sometimes likes to masquerade as a member of the opposite sex and loves opera. Developed in New York, the Giuliani has primarily been used on rats, ferrets and other rodents. This is Giuliani number 5.

David Frei: Call name is “Rudy.” For all of you out there at home, the Giuliani is definitely not recommended for first timers. It’s strong willed and can be very difficult to handle.

Lester: Well, he seems to be gaiting pretty peacefully tonight. That said, I am not sure I’d want to be the one checking his bite.

David Frei: He changed groomers a few years ago and his more natural look doesn’t seem to be affecting him adversely at all.

Lester: Yes, the previous comb-over style can be a little hard to wear, particularly in an older animal.

Dave La Fave: The McCain is loyal, persistent and determined. He is a serious worker and exceptionally well suited to military work. This is McCain number 3.

David Frei: This is “John”. He’s the veteran here in the ring tonight, and you can see that he is moving a bit slower than the others.

Lester: Yes, the McCain has always been much admired, but perhaps not as popular as some of the newcomers to the ring. He’s been ranked quite high in the group in previous years, but this is expected to be his last try at a win.

DF: Well it looks like he’s wearing Phat Farm tonight to appeal to the younger judges.

Announcer Dave La Fave: The Thompson is personable, outgoing and loves the limelight. Those who favor him find him charming and entertaining. This is Thompson number 10.

DF: Call name “Fred.” He’s an actor in his spare time I understand.

Lester: Well that’s somewhat unusual, but he would be following in the paw prints of the great champion “Ronald” if he wins.

DF: Yes, I remember seeing “Ronald” go Best when I was a child. But of course the Thompson is a completely different animal.

Announcer Dave La Fave: The Romney is energetic and athletic and should present a handsome, yet forceful appearance. The standard calls for a square jaw and broad shoulders. Although generally outgoing, some find the Romney a bit aloof.
This is Romney number 3.

DF: Call name “Mitt” short for Milton.

Lester: Wow! He’s a beautiful specimen—he’s an absolute classic, isn’t he? And his grooming is impeccable—I wonder how often they bathe him to get that look. And the hair is magnificent also.

DF: Yes, I’m told there’s quite a bit of money behind him and he’s being campaigned quite heavily this year. He looks like he’s enjoying it though. You know in order to show well, it’s so important for these candidates to enjoy the ring. We’re told Mitt likes licking babies and playing shake.

Lester: Well, he’s certainly got the look the judges go for. Very typy.

DF: Well those are the Republicans, at least so far. As you know, we expect to see quite a few changes in the line up with each show, particularly after the big mid-winter cluster.

Announcer Dave La Fave: May we have the Democrats into the ring please:

DF: Look at them go! Always a lively bunch, they really respond to the roar of the crowd.

Lester: Considering how competitive it is, they are all so polite.

DF: Yes, biting another candidate is an automatic disqualification. Let’s listen.

Announcer Dave La Fave: The Clinton is known to be intelligent and articulate although the males are often excessively vocal and are known for their charming temperament. The females are very loyal and can make excellent companions if sufficiently challenged. This is Clinton number 2.

DF: Call name “Hillary." Uh-oh, what’s this! It looks like there is another Clinton gaiting alongside!. You know allegations of double handling have plagued this entry.

Lester Holt: Nevertheless she seems to be gaiting with surprising smoothness although she’s not considered the best conditioned of the candidates. Do you think she has a chance David?

DF: Well, it would definitely be a bit of an upset. But she is considered a strong contender for Best of Opposite. Of course the fact that a Clinton has recently won could be in her favor. The judges seem to like them.

Announcer Dave La Fave: The Obama is frisky, energetic and outgoing. In spite of their obvious intelligence they can be a bit messy to live with. The Obama is a pleasant companion and never quarrelsome. This is Obama number 4.

DF: Well the Obama is new to the show ring this year. New entries always cause a stir and they are what can make this event so entertaining. His call name is “Barack” and he looks like he is gaiting beautifully tonight.

Lester: Some critics say he gaits a little to the left, what do you think?

DF: You know, it’s these individual differences and styles that give the event its flair.

Announcer Dave La Fave: The Edwards is attractive, vocal and frequently has a mind of its own. The Edwards is persistent and should present a youthful and sleek appearance. This is Edwards number 6.

DF: Look how beautiful he looks tonight—his grooming is fantastic. You can carve out quite a candidate with the right amount of hair. He came very close to victory last time and now he seems even more determined.

Lester: Yes, his grooming is legendary. Rumor has it that his groomer gets $400 a session, but if tonight is anything to go by, it looks likes it’s worth every penny. What’s happening now?

DF: Well this is exciting. We’re apparently going to have a “Miscellaneous” class tonight!

Lester : Look! A Schwarzenegger has just sprinted into the ring. Look how fast he’s gaiting. They were originally developed in Austria, am I right?

DF: Yes, the Schwarzenegger was used for hauling weights. This is Ch. Pride of Vienna’s Mouthful of Marbles Conan the Barbarian, call name “Arnold.”

Lester: What’s that deafening noise!!! Is that baying I hear!

DF: Look it’s Wimsey and he’s chasing a Bloomberg into the ring!
Lester: I didn’t know that Bloombergs could run that fast.

DF: Normally not, but I think he’s trying to put as much distance between himself and Wimsey —he’s just been groomed and he’s seen what Wimsey can do to Central Park.

Lester: I understand that Wimsey considers the Bloomberg as more or less his head gardener.

DF: That’s right, and he’s been a pretty vocal opponent of some of the Bloomberg’s policies—like those that keep him off of the Great Lawn and Sheep Meadow.
Lester: Yes, but I wouldn’t give too much credence to these stories--you know how candidates are always slinging drool at each other. But I didn’t think that Wimsey and the Schwarznegger were eligible to run.

DF: Well, technically not, but I heard they are teaming up on a constitutional amendment. As you know the Schwarznegger is not currently eligible because he was whelped in Austria and although Wimsey is a US native he will be slightly under age in dog years at the time of the Best in Show finals.

Lester: I didn’t know that Hounds could run.

DF: Well Wimsey has consulted Chief Justice Roberts and it turns out that the framers of the Constitution neglected to define the word “citizen” very precisely and certainly not in terms of species. So really the issue is Wimsey’s young age.

Lester: Well I guess that means we could one day see Wimsey baying in the Oval Kennel.

DF: Indeed Lester. His supporters are hoping for that outcome. I am told he as already assembled a highly active Kitchen Cabinet. Well time to wrap up. For the USA Network this is David Frei and Lester Holt bringing you another installment of the race for the White Dog House.


Politics are so much fun, don’t you think. Anyway, back to me. So I have not been able to be shown for a while because I have a pesky cut on my elbow that I periodically reopen. My medical man says not to worry—it will eventually heal. In the meantime, the thought of me bleeding all over the judge (there are an inordinate number of small blood vessels in the area) has had a kind of dampening effect on my humans (“Look at all that blood! Wimsey will do anything to make himself more conspicuous”).

Well anyway, Maria is looking a bit chilly. Time to subvert the planet and go sit on her.

The Honorable Hound from the State of New York,

Wimsey

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

June 28, 2007

Hello everyone it’s me, Wimsey. I know that it is unusual for me to post on a Thursday, but I have been tagged by I am to provide 7 random facts about myself that people don’t already know. Now this presents something of a challenge, as those of you who read my diary can see that my life is an open book (preferably one by Proust or Shakespeare or even Newton’s Principia). So I now find myself forced into the shocking and startling revelations of (thunderclap, please): How I, Wimsey, am like the Tudors:

1. I am like Henry VII because I too am an ambitious ruler of my kingdom eager to expand

my empire

2. I am like Henry VIII because I also have an eye for the ladies (although I prefer them with their heads attached)

3. I am like Henry VIII (again) because we are both intensely musical and relish public performances of our art

4. I am like Edward VI because I too live in the shadow of a much larger and powerful father—in my case that ultra macho rambunctious Hound, Stetson of Ramsey Creek.

5. I am like Mary Tudor because she was half Spanish and I too can speak Spanish--

“Me llamo Wimsey, El Sabueso Grande”

6. Now we come to my favorite Tudor, Elizabeth I (lovely name, don’t you think?): I am like Elizabeth because we are both stunning redheads

7. I am also like Elizabeth I because I share her much admired, imperious ability to get people to do what I want when I want it (of course the consequences of disobedience in her case were a little more serious, but we both still rely heavily on our extensive reservoirs of charm)

So there you have it--the shocking, amazing and unvarnished truth. OK. Now back to writing my diary.

Wimsey I His most gracious majesty, King of the Upper West Side (and all other territories within marking distance).

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 21
June 22, 2007

Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey. Before I forget, here is the link to an article the New York Times did on running dogs for exercise and on Running Paws, the service that runs me every day (www.runningpaws.com) There are a couple of pictures of Yours Truly and my energetic running partner Louie the Weimaraner. And of course, we are accompanied by our much admired (and courageous) runner Roy (ex-Army or not, if Louie and I decided to sit on him, he’s toast!)

They Take the Bounce Out of Bowser

It may be hard to spot, but if you look closely you will see that whilst everybody else in the photos is looking straight ahead, I have my attention focused with laser-like precision exactly where it belongs: on the camera. It’s all down to my extensive media training-- I am nothing if not The Complete Media Hound. I am the Princess Diana of Hounds—the camera loves me and the feeling is mutual.

As can be expected, my human Maria and Elizabeth (a friend of hers) were pretty excited by the sight of my handsome hound face in their local daily, but they suspect (quite rightly) that the extra attention is not conducive to helping me maintain my usual modest demeanor. (“Oh no! Now Wimsey’s pointy head will grow even bigger!”) And of course it has given Elizabeth ideas about using a camera to bait me in the show ring instead of boiled liver, since it seems to be the only way to get me to focus. But one of the best things about me being such a splendid looking creature is that I so totally eclipse my humans. Now Maria and Elizabeth look absolutely nothing alike but as female humans holding my leash, they are completely interchangeable! In my presence, people seldom realize that they are actually two different people and there are always these amusing daily conferences about the mistaken identity issue. Maria always enjoys it when strangers come up to her to continue conversations that they had with Elizabeth the previous day. It’s kind of like living in an ongoing Shakespearean play:

The Scene: Twilight, Central Park

Enter: The Lady Maria, Wimsey, The Bloodhound

Lady Maria: Hark Wimsey, we are being hailed.

Enter the Young Lord Balto, Marcello his friend, and retinue

Lord Balto: Well met, fair Lady. Forsooth that is a beautiful Hound thou hast.

Lady Maria: Why yes my Lord, and methinks the Hound would agree’st with thee.

Lord Balto: I wouldst give thee a hundred ducats for yon wondrous Hound.

Lady Maria: Alas, kind Lord, the Hound is a pearl without price. I have raised him since he twas a mere pup (aside: though a giant one at that!) and wouldst not part with him for all the ducats in Padua. (aside: foolish Lord. Methinks he cans’t have no idea what mayhem may ensue when’st the Hound is about his quotidian business.)

Marcello: Come my Lord, we must not tarry. The revelries of the Castle of Belvedere await!

Lord Balto: Farewell dear Lady. I hope to admire thy Hound again anon.

Marcello: Dids’t thou not think the Lady fair, m’lord?

Lord Balto: Aye, but in the presence of the Hound, the eye cannot but seek the fairer of the two.

Exit

The next morning, Central Park

Enter: The Lady Elizabeth, Wimsey the Bloodhound

Lady Elizabeth: Methinks the day dawns fair, my good Hound. What sayest thou?

Wimsey the Bloodhound: Bays joyously

Enter: The Young Lord Balto, Marcello, his friend, and retinue

Lord Balto: Such a wondrous noise! Hail Fair Lady. We meet again!
(aside: Marry, I must have that Hound!)

Lady Elizabeth: I think not, my Lord. Mine eyes beholdst thy form this hour for the first time

Lord Balto: Come, come, good lady, let us not be coy! Twas only yesterday that you refused mine offer of 100 ducats for thine magnificent Hound.

Lady Elizabeth: (aside) What madman is this I say?

Lord Balto: Well I have meditated much on mine offer, a most generous one I think. Now, brace thyself good lady for to obtain this magnificent Hound I offer my hand in marriage to his most fortunate mistress.

Lady Elizabeth: You mistake me good lord! Mayhap twas the Lady Maria to whom your affections incline.

Lord Balto: T’is all the same, fair Lady. My affections incline towards yon stunning Hound. It is the East and that Hound is the sun. Who canst discern the moon when such fair company presents. What matter it Elizabeth or Maria or Aphrodite herself or yet some other name when one’s eye canst feast on such houndly splendour! Whatever thou chooses to call thyself today, take my hand, my fortune, my castle and give me that leash.

THE END

Post Script: Both ladies moved into the castle; Lord Balto still has not discerned that the one are two. Only his Hound knows.


So you can see all the fun we three have together! Maria always wanted an identical twin—she just expected that an identical appearance was an inviolable requirement. Anyway, I think I would have made an excellent Shakespearean actor: Two Hounds of Verona, The Merry Hounds of Windsor, Hound for Hound, The Comedy of Hounds, Much Ado about a Hound, Hound Lovers Labor Lost, A Midsummer Night’s Hound, The Hound of Venice, As the Hound Likes It, the Taming of the Hound, All’s Well that Ends Well for the Hound, Twelfth Night of Hounds, A Hound’s Tale, etc. Perhaps I should propose myself to the organizers of Shakespeare in the Park!

Well, anyway, apart from being photographed during my daily run by paparazzi from the New York Times, it has been another beautiful summer (or more accurately pre-summer) week here in New York City---I get particularly vocal in honor of the solstice; I believe this has something to do with my ancestor’s great love of Stonehenge—so much vertical square footage upon which to pee, I can’t believe it wasn’t conceived by a Hound. But the beautiful weather has been wasted on my Elizabeth who is holed up with some super secret project that she is convinced will keep me in a wardrobe of cooling coats and premium gelato for life. However, it means that she absolutely refuses to have me over during the day for a visit. Now in spite of the fact that she was actually trained as a scientist, she has come to believe that I embody the discredited theory of spontaneous generation. Not only do I spontaneously generate dirt (“How did Wimsey’s paw print get on the ceiling?”) but also kibble-- which tends to show up in places that kibble has no right to be (“Wimsey how did this kibble get into my underpants?”). But of course, my most masterful feat of spontaneous generation has to be in the area of poop.

Maria: “Wimsey hasn’t touched his kibble for two days, how did he manage to produce two pounds of poop.”
Elizabeth: “Spontaneous generation. It’s the only explanation.”

Needless to say, my pooping prowess is the stuff of legend. Other people go on Easter Egg Hunts or Treasure Hunts, but Maria and Elizabeth go on Poop Hunts:

Maria: “Where is the poop? I saw him do it, but it has mysteriously vanished into the dense under brush of Central Park.”
Elizabeth: “Perhaps my compass would help? I think we should travel NNW”
Maria: “I wonder if Wimsey could leave us a parchment map like the ones the pirates used?”

But all this talk of poop reminds me that on account of it my Diary has been apparently rated “R”. by mingle2.com. Maria discovered this blog rating service and my discussion of poop and also my use of the word sex once or twice has triggered an R rating. The fact that I routinely mention and discuss (lovingly) my testicles seems to have escaped their notice.

Anyway, tonight is another exciting installment of Wimsey Bath Night. Last time I managed to knock Maria’s congratulatory post-bath cocktail out of her hand, so let’s see what I can manage this time! I haven’t been shown in a month (I w

ill be showing on Staten Island on Sunday) so I imagine I will make an extra large mess of Elizabeth’s bathroom and will also be doling out some extra special show ring high jinx.

Maybe I should alert the New York Times.

Until next time, I remain

Yon Fair Hounde Wimsey

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 20
June 15, 2007

Hello Everyone! Wimsey here. Well this week I finally met another dog blogger—Sophie’s human (sophierulestheworld.blogspot.com), Sherry, who came all the way from Montreal to see me. I was able to give her a brief tour of the extensive Wimsey Central Park demesne and she has promised to return for further explorations. Sophie, unfortunately, was too busy to make the trip, and it occurs to me that a lot of humans travel in the summer without their hounds. Now apart from the obvious travesty of this, it did make me realize that the situation creates a golden opportunity to open Wimsey’s Hound House Hotel so that the traveling public need not entirely despair at being Houndless. I have been discussing my new concept extensively with my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth, who I think, both fail to appreciate my genius.

Brochure for Wimsey’s Hound House Hotel

From the moment you arrive at Wimsey’s Hound House Hotel, we make you feel at home. Notice the lush vegetation and our well fertilized lawn, which is dotted with an intricate and lively geometric pattern of small craters—an homage to the balance and symmetry of the great Le Notre. Our head gardener claims that the idea for this bold design came to him one night while he was hunting voles, but we feel that he is being far too modest. So excited are the staff by the beauty of his horticultural masterpiece that they all insist on taking part in its maintenance and upkeep. Indeed you will immediately notice the extraordinary amount of energy and enthusiasm with which the staff of Wimsey’s Hound House undertake their gardening duties.

But nothing will create more of an excited frenzy than your arrival! You will be greeted by a band of boisterous Mariachi Hounds direct from Mexico City, whose beautiful, harmonious voices will announce your arrival far and wide. Special acrobat Hounds from China will astound you with their leaping, prancing and spinning prowess and the Hawaiian Hounds will be on tap to present you with garlands of drool. Your bags will instantly be whisked away, and trying to get them back will provide you with many hours of enjoyable entertainment. and healthful exercise. Not to be outdone, our front desk staff is committed to making your check in at Wimsey’s Hound House an intensely personal affair—you will be welcomed with great intensity by large, vacuuming hound noses—no spot is too inconvenient or too embarrassing for our staff to reach. Any lapses in personal hygiene will be immediately called to your (and everyone else’s) attention. As a consequence of all this detailed scent acquisition, our staff will know where you are at all times and be ready to provide you with that daily chewed up newspaper or be on hand to refresh your cocktail with a nutritious glob of drool.

Once in your room you will notice the distinctive odor with which your room is redolent. This is our signature scent “Eau de St. Hubert” a bespoke perfume direct from Paris. It is meant to evoke a romantic medieval garden replete with the delightful scent of heroic hunting hounds. In fact, so intense is the aroma that you will still be able to enjoy it for many happy weeks after your stay with us has ended. And please notice the exquisite care with which our rooms are decorated—every wall has a unique and individually crafted designer drool pattern. Rugs are an especially luxurious treat—each one with our own patented plush hound hair pile. And good news for you gentlemen—at Wimsey’s Hound House the toilet seats are always up!

Next, it’s time for our award winning room service. We at Wimsey’s Hound House are ever mindful of the desire of the frequently traveling public for lighter cuisine. In aid of this, our Hounds will thoughtfully pre-diminish the size of the portions before they even reach your room—at no extra charge! While you enjoy your healthy dinner, feel free to listen to our audio entertainment—12 tracks of baying hounds. For our international visitors we have the French language St. Hubert’s Chorus, the German Der Wunderbar Bluthund, and the Muchos Sabuesos are on hand for the pleasure of our Spanish speaking guests.

To insure that guests get a good nights sleep (we at Hound House believe that sleep is an art form), experience our deluxe turn down service. Our maids will expertly dig up your bed-- and for that extra touch of home-- leave pieces of rawhide buried in inconvenient spots. It will be like you never left home! We guarantee you will sleep like a baby to the soothing piped in sound of the Snoring Hounds (Now available on CD at the gift shop).

And for those crucial dawn business meetings--never fear-- with our VIP “baying hound and icy nose snuffle” wake up service we guarantee that you will not sleep another wink. Or perhaps you have no business and would just like to kick back and relax? You can experience a variety of family safe recreational activities here at the Hound House. Want to swim but are nervous about the water? Not to worry-- our Olympic sized swimming pool is patrolled by a team of conscientious Newfoundlands who believe that no human is safe in the water. Ever. (“Yikes! Their feet have no webbing—they are all going to drown! We have to save them!) And they will promptly haul you out. On the tennis courts, increase your speed and fitness by competing with our team of Labradors to get to every shot (ever wonder how Roger Federer got so good?) Want to improve your golf score and impress your business colleagues—play a few holes with one of our specially trained daschund caddies—they dig your ball out of virtually anywhere and helpfully deposit it on the green. Or maybe you’re just a gym rat. Wimsey’s Hound House has a fully equipped gym for your sweating and grunting pleasure. Pit your abs and biceps against our Towing Machine (adjustable at small hound, medium hound, large hound and Wimsey settings). Or pump yourself up by hoisting bags of heavyweight kibble, either in free mode or as weights for our complete assortment of fitness machines. Flabby abs? Fear not—they will vanish in no time as you perform sit ups with a Hound sitting on your stomach. And you must surely spend time on our new state-of-the art motivational running track. Don’t think you can run fast? Think again--speed will be effortless as you chase down the Hound who has stolen your room key.

Wimsey’s Hound House is also pleased to offer the ladies a free treatment of choice from the Hound Spa:

Treatment List

Drool facial: Look years younger by slathering your face in fresh Hound drool imported from the exclusive drooling hounds of the Maldives.

Hound massage: Let a giant hound sit on all those tight, stiff and painful points on your body.

Mud bath: Immerse yourself in fresh mud courtesy of our gardening Hounds.

Detox Treatment: Retaining water—not after experiencing our Native American Hound’s Bladder Dance.

Cellulite: OK, not much the Hounds can do about that one, but look on the bright side—you provide a much cushier seat for your Hound.


Anyway, I think I will get cracking on my Hound Hotel business plan forthwith.

Other exciting news this week—(apart from the fact that we ran into Handsome Doberman Guy—Elizabeth keeps checking his left hand hoping his wedding band will mysteriously vanish)—I have been interviewed by the New York Times. They are doing a story on the service that takes me for a run every day called Running Paws (www.runningpaws.com). The daily run keeps me in tip top shape so I can drag my humans around even harder and for longer distances! And of course all this exercise keeps me trim which seems to inexplicably puzzle my humans (“I don’t know, Wimsey eats a lot, why is he still so thin?”) Well three daily walks and a run would tend to do it---and Elizabeth thinks I have a pointy head!

Anyway, the guys from the Times took lots of pictures (they thought I was very photogenic and they didn’t mind the drool on their lenses too much) of me and Louie my giant, vigorous Weimaraner running partner. Now, you ask, what behemoth of a man (or woman) runs in the park with not one, but two oversized dogs? Well that honor currently belongs to Roy—all 5’10” of him. Roy’s rather compact size has caused much head scratching amongst our humans (“Do you think Roy is an alien with special powers?” “Can dog walkers be nominated for medals of courage?” “Are there Hound tranquilizing drugs involved do you think?”). Roy’s mysterious powers shall remain a secret, known only to myself and Louie. It’s more fun that way.

Running Paws has also just opened a dog gym, so not only can we Manhattan dogs eat takeout Chinese, hang out at gelato stands, swill beverages at the Boat Basin Café but we can now trot (or pace) off to the gym. I expect to be going clubbing shortly.

Well, as much as I hate to leave off my literary endeavors (I fancy myself the Samuel Pepys of Hounds), it is a beautiful afternoon here in NYC and I have an urgent appointment with a tree.

Until next time,

Wimsey, prop. Hound House Hotel

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry #19
June 8, 2007

Hello Everyone. Wimsey here. Well I must say, I am extremely disappointed this week. Having induced my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth to buy me a super cool, fashion forward, cooling coat (from SherBert Stuff, http://www.sherbertstuff.com/) the weather has turned inexplicably temperate here on the Island of Manhattan. By the way, I have always enjoyed the fact that I live on an island—it somehow appeals to my romantic Hound nature—and conjures up visions of mysterious castaways like those on the TV show “Lost” (“Help! Help! I’ve just seen a Giant Black and Tan Beast that makes a deafening noise and secretes copious amounts of a mysterious sticky substance--- I think it dissolves the brain!) Or maybe Manhattan is really a purgatory-like island to which its inhabitants have all been sent to redeem themselves and repair their karmic destinies (“Oh no! I’ve been sentenced to live in a small apartment with a large Hound” or “Do you think having to take Wimsey into the show ring is punishment for something horrible that I did in a past life?”) And of course, the Hound is the ultimate instrument of divine retribution—it’s pretty hard for humans to think of themselves as being in any way important when they are covered in drool, dirt (did I mention how vigorously I like to kick dirt after I poop?), and hound hair. In fact I am sure that Hounds were put here to help humans combat the Seven Deadly Sins:

Lust: If you have enough energy for this, you have not properly exercised the Hound. (NB: the penalties for improperly exercising the Hound are stiff—like the mass destruction of all your property—of course sometimes we destroy things anyway just for the fun of it).

Gluttony: Food is a lot less appealing after it’s been drooled on and snuffled through. Also, you will find that large quantities of it mysteriously vanish.

Greed: No amount of money will make a Hound listen to you. In fact no amount of anything will make a Hound listen to you.

Sloth: This is self defeating since if you fail to exercise the Hound you will not have any furniture left upon which to be slothful.

Wrath: Ever try yelling with a large, slimy Hound tongue in your mouth?

Envy: You have a Hound—what else could you possible want?

Pride: You know those designer clothes you had…
In Wimsey World, pride goeth before the fall--literally.

Of course maybe Manhattan is not a karmic retribution type of Island at all. Maybe it is like a “Survivor” type island where you get voted off for not being famous or successful enough or for wearing clothes with too many colors in them. And people could get voted off the Island for asking questions such as:

If Wimsey is so nice, why is he wearing a muzzle (Probably because it’s a Gentle Leader).

Why does Wimsey have testicles (For the same reason you do).

Isn’t it unfair to keep Wimsey in the City (No, it’s unfair of Wimsey to keep his humans in Central Park).

Why is Wimsey baying (I’m a Hound, I don’t need a reason).

Does he eat a lot (No, I got to be this size on Lean Cuisine).

Is he a good dog (Define your terms).

Does he drool (To quote John McEnroe—“You cannot be serious!”).

Of course, it is often entertaining to talk to people about all of my many fine qualities—and to hear what breeds people think I am: So far, I have been a Great Dane, a Mastiff, a Basset Hound (somehow no one seems to realize that ‘basset” means short!), a Coon Hound, a St. Bernard, a Newfoundland (OK, these guys drool too, but there is a definite hair issue here), a Shar pei, a Shar pei mix, a Filo Brasileiro (this flatters my ego enormously) and my all time favorite—a guy who, with great authority, pronounced me a Doberman-St. Bernard mix. Now, he really deserves to be voted off the island!

And Manhattan is very much like other Islands in that people come from all over the world to visit it-- only they don’t go about with colorful shirts, straw hats and big fruity drinks (well, maybe the drinks). Anyway, I always cause quite a stir when I appear amongst the tourists::

Tourist #1: Come quick, bring the camera! I have found a large Hound!

Tourist #2: What a handsome Hound! He is even more majestic than the Statue of Liberty.

Tourist #1: I can’t find him in our guidebook. Do you think he is really a New York Hound?

Tourist # 2: Well he is mostly wearing black. And he walks fast and is quite loud.

Tourist #1: Where is he going in such a hurry? Let’s follow him.

Tourist #2: Grom Gelato! Wow! What A place. In New York City even the Hounds are trendy!


And of course like all Island visitors, tourists can eat exotic foods (“What exactly is a knish?”), drink exotic drinks (“There seem to be leaves in this mojito thing”), see colorful (or not) natives do exotic dances (“Can we get into Bungalow 8”), view exciting indigenous species (“do rats and cockroaches really grow that big), hear new languages (“no habla Ingles”) and meet celebrities (“Look, it’s Wimsey! He’s hot. He’s wearing his famous cooling coat”).

But I digress-- I was discussing how much I was looking forward to having people questioning me about my new cooling coat (although I look smashing in gray, sad to say, the coats do not yet come in Wimsey Green). So where is global warming when you need it! Now global warming is apparently a terrible problem even though we have yet to see much evidence of it here in New York City. However, as in so many things, I believe that the Hound can be of immense value to solve this impending ecological crisis.

For instance, why lounge about comfortably in the air conditioning squandering electricity, when you could spend many happy and productive hours outside being dragged about by an energetic Hound? Want to get better gas mileage and reduce automotive emissions—the giant “hound spot” we create in your rear view mirror insures that you will drive very slowly and thus use a lot less gas. Thinking about zipping around the world on a gas guzzling jet plane? Think again—where are you ever going to find someone to take care of an immense drooly, baying Hound?

And of course the Hound will also reduce your use of many other electrical devices such the computer—you can’t use what you can’t see (I like to interpose my massive frame in front of the monitor). Or perhaps you were thinking of watching some TV, but look-- there seems to be a pile of plastic debris where the remote used to be! Again, all down to the Hound. You will also have much less laundry to do as we Hounds helpfully reduce the number of usable fabric items in your closets, kitchens and bathrooms. And Hounds are very helpful in the horticultural arena—encouraging oxygen producing plants to grow through our extensive, mobile fertilization system. In fact I am quite sure we Hounds would be happy to travel about, spreading the wealth as it were—kind of the Hound version of Johnny Appleseed.

OK, well it is time for me to repair to my couch and think deep thoughts about how to solve more of the world’s intractable problems. Now Elizabeth always makes fun of the fact that I have a pointy head (“Look! Wimsey’s head is shaped like a dunce cap—how appropriate”), but I don’t think she appreciates how much intelligence it takes to solve problems the Wimsey Way—by using the tools nature provided. I wonder if I can vote her off the Island?

Until next time,

Wimsey, the Island Hound

Wimey's Blog:Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 18
June 1, 2007

Hello Everyone. It’s me, Wimsey. Well summer is in full swing here in the Big Apple-- I have always wondered why they call it the Big Apple. Now while I would probably eat a big apple, especially if my human Maria or her friend Elizabeth were eating one, I can think of many more appealing things to eat a big one of. From this Hound’s perspective New York should be called something like the Big Pizza or the Big Piece of Stolen Food or something. Maybe even the Big Grom Gelato (seriously, I have been spending an insane amount of time, along with the rest of the upper West Side, standing in line for a small dish of the stuff; Maria says buying me $5 dishes of gelato is starting to total the GDP of a small, developing nation). I did even consider the fact that New York should be called the Big Liver (Elizabeth is always bragging that she has one of those), but as no one else seems to actually like liver, it is not really an appropriate Hound food. Hounds enjoy their food most when 1) someone else is eating it and 2) they are not supposed to have it. In fact I should think about opening up Wimsey’s Hound House Restaurant:

Waiter: Welcome to Wimsey’s Hound House. You can’t have any food.


Hound: But these other customers seem to be eating food.

Waiter: I know, and it’s all quite delicious, but you can’t have any.

Hound: Well what is everybody eating?

Waiter: The table just to your left is eating our special 24 oz. T-bone steak, cooked rare; if you prefer your meat cooked slightly more, the table next to them has it cooked medium. The table behind you is eating roast chicken with a chestnut and chive stuffing—always an excellent choice. If Sir prefers fish, the table to your right is eating wild king salmon poached in dill sauce. The table just beyond that is eating our own stone hearth pizza with goat cheese and artichokes. Does any of that sound appealing?

Hound: Yes, I think I would like the rare steak.

Waiter: No. You can’t have it.

Hound: But it smells delicious and they can’t possibly eat that much steak.

Waiter: Stop begging.

Hound: But I’m hungry; it’s been a whole hour since my last meal. How can I get the food?

Waiter: You have to steal it. It tastes better that way. Just be careful of table number 9—he resource guards. If you want dessert, you can steal some from Tables 3, 7 and 10.

Hound: What an innovative dining concept—even better than pretending that at the Olive Garden you belong to an extended Italian family.

Waiter: Enjoy your meal. That will be $65.99. Dessert is extra.

Now although humans complain about these covetous Houndly behaviors, they have exactly the same tendencies. Here in New York City there are restaurants with no telephone numbers and sometimes even no signs— the more they won’t let you in, the more people want to get in. (“oooh, the maitre d’ sent us to the bar for two hours where the bartender was too busy to serve us and now our waiter is fantastically rude. Eat quickly, though, they said we could only have the table for 15 minutes. What a wonderful place! And I only had to wait a year for reservations.”)

So humans beg, too. They just do it differently. Anyway, summer in the city is loads of fun; they turn on the fountains and like so many other enjoyable activities, it is fun for me and dangerous for those holding my leash (“La, la la—oh look isn’t Bethesda Fountain beautiful. La la I think I’ll just wander over there and sniff something”. Then, a quick lunge and it’s all “Eeek Eeek Eeek! Help! Wimsey’s going in!”). The summer definitely brings out the puppy in me, but then according to my humans it never really left. I can still unravel a toilet paper roll with the best of them and create those terrifying ominous silences. Elizabeth is threatening to put a GPS tag on me.

Now humans seem to think that youth is a highly desirable attribute in themselves but not in a high spirited Hound. Such a double standard. It is the same with other admirable traits such as strength (the better to drag you into fountains), agility (useful in reaching food placed in inconvenient locations), speed (the mouth is quicker than the hand when it comes to desirable items), intelligence (OK, not the regular kind, but the kind that lets us figure out how to get what we want), charm (I’ll lick your face if you buy me another gelato..), a trim appearance (looks how thin Wimsey looks—he’ll never win any ribbons). And even special talents, like my Wimsey School of Massage Therapy. Now Elizabeth periodically spends money to get all these excruciatingly painful Qui Gong massages that are supposed to be so good for you. These are the ones where they press all the painful points in your body (you know the spot where sensitive nerves are bundled together). Well as it happens, I have a natural gift for finding these points. But when I jab, say my pointy elbow, into one of these points and then lean all 125 of my pounds into it, she doesn’t pay me money (although I would charge in gelato) she just screams. And continues to scream throughout the massage process. So I do question the consistency of human thought processes. We hounds do not understand the conditional nature of human beliefs (like it’s good to be handsome, but then every one notices Wimsey and not us).

But anyway, this summer I am making big fashion news! I expect to be asked to pace down the catwalk any day. As you may know, I was shown last weekend at Freehold, NJ, where I picked up something better than a ribbon—a summer coat! Yes, I Wimsey am a fashion forward design innovator. A company called SherBert Stuff (www.sherbertstuff.com) makes these coats with bands of cooling material that are positioned along the major blood vessels in my body, thus preventing me from overheating. I look absolutely stunning in it and better yet, the coat requires weekly soaking to keep the cooling material active. I love it when I can add more tasks to my human’s lives that involve me—I am the unltimate high maintenance Hound and now I have a high maintenance coat! And wait until I make my appearance on the streets of New York—if Maria and Elizabeth think they have problems with people yelling because I still have my testicles, just wait until I am out and about in a coat in sweltering City weather! They will probably be accused of abusing me which will necessitate the buying of extra cups of cooling gelato in order to prove otherwise.



The other great thing about the coat is that it is huge! Maria neglected to realize that she had no actual place to store it as closets are apparently deleterious to the health of the coat. The instructions suggest hanging it over a fence—well that created some consternation, I can tell you (“A fence? I don’t know. I don’t think my apartment has a fence. Does yours?”) Well, in the end Elizabeth said she’d just put it in her “mud room”—this is really just the foyer in her apartment, but having a mud room gives her the illusion that she is part of the Horse and Hounds set. And of course the whole mud room concept was necessitated by me, as it contains my giant Vari-Kennel, cavalettis, stinky hound clothes and other assorted instruments of Hound Control. And now it contains my giant chemically activated summer cooling coat. In fact, it has become apparent that I, Wimsey, have become an Expansionist Power. I am sure that Karl Marx would approve—Houndism is a far superior vehicle for world domination than communism could ever hope to be. The Dictatorship of the Hound having far more appeal than the Dictatorship of the Proletariat: I can even publish a little black and tan book called “Quotations from Chairman Wimsey”:

“From each Human, according to his ability; to each Hound, according to his need” (this means you give us everything, we give you drool).

“The theory of Houndism may be summed up in one sentence: Abolish all private property and turn it over to the Hound” (it all belongs to us in any case).

“Hounds of the world unite; you have nothing to lose but your leashes.” (We pay no attention to these anyway).

“The Hound is the opiate of the masses.” (We give you the illusion of bliss and you get nothing done when we are about).

“Social progress can be measured by the social position of the Hound.”

The little black and tan book will also contain important slogans from the Houndist Manifesto, such as: “If you have it, I want it,” “Su casa es mi casa” and “What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is also mine.”

But as a Benevolent Supreme Hound, I am sure I will be ably assisted by my fellow canines:

For Secretary of State---the Golden Retriever (“Hello! Can I lick your face? Please accept this stuffed toy as a token of my nation's esteem?”)

For Secretary of Defense---The Pit Bull (“I prefer to be known as the Secretary of War.”)

For Secretary of the Treasury--- The Rottweiler (“Don’t even think of coming near this money.”)

For Secretary Agriculture-- the Labrador (“I’m the Secretary of Food, right?”)

For Secretary of Energy---the Jack Russell (too busy spinning to talk)

For Secretary of Education-- The Poodle (“I may have a silly hair cut, but I am smarter than you.”)

For Secretary of Transportation---the Siberian husky (“I envision a transcontinental dog sled linking this great nation…”)


For Secretary of Homeland Security--- the Akita (“Make my day”)

For Secretary of the Interior: The Weimaraner (“I get to hunt everything in those red states, right?”)


Such a lot to do, and so little time to do it in. Fortunately my activities this evening will not include Wimsey Bath Night as I am not being shown again until June 10th (Yorktown Heights). And speaking of showing, now whilst I didn’t do anything actually disgraceful at the last show (unless you count a lengthy pre-show ring concert) I didn’t win anything either. So what’s the point in behaving?

Until next time,

Supreme Leader Wimsey

“All Power to the Hound”