Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

July 6, 2007
Entry # 22

Hello everyone. It’s me Wimsey! Well, I have been having quite a time here in sunny New York City. The fun (for me anyway) began last Saturday when my human Maria did not feel well and decided that it was necessary to summon reinforcements to take care of me. Now even in a robust state of health taking care of me is an arduous task, so dealing with me when one is sick is pretty much out of the question. This meant that Elizabeth (a friend of my human’s) had the honor of providing me with bed and board for a most delightful four day stint. Of course it is too bad that Maria was sick but the opportunity to annoy Elizabeth is one of the great and enduring joys of Hound life.

Now I have pretty much destroyed everything Maria owns (except her books which she most unfairly put behind glass, so I can’t get at them—very unsporting of her) but Elizabeth’s apartment is a veritable houndly treasure trove of stuff to be messed with, chewed up and drooled upon. Also, whilst my human has long ago realized the futility of trying to be a good housekeeper in the presence of a Hound, not so Elizabeth. She continues in the quaint, and utterly misguided belief that she can maintain order and cleanliness in my stinky, drooly dirt caddying presence. As a consequence, she follows me around with a futile assortment of towels, rags, brooms and brushes-- sadly all to no avail. I will decorate the walls with drool stains and generously deposit dirt, hair and kibble wherever I happen to wander.

Hound Trek

Personal Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the Star Ship “Hound.” Its ten-year mission: To explore strange new habits. To seek out (and destroy) new stuff and new personal possessions. To boldly annoy where no Hound has annoyed before. (Grammatical note: we hounds also like to boldly split infinitives)


Captain James T. Wimsey: What’s that ahead, Ensign? On screen.

Ensign Sulu: It’s a class M apartment Captain. It looks pristine and lush with artifacts

Lt. Uhura: You’re being hailed Captain.

Voice: “Come!”

Captain James T. Wimsey: Don’t be ridiculous, The Captain of The Hound does not obey
commands.

Voice: “I’ll give you a piece of liver if you come.”

Captain James T. Wimsey: Boiled or fried?

Voice: “I’ll prepare it any way you want. Also I have a big rawhide for you.”

Captain James T. Wimsey: OK. What else.

Voice: “If you come you will be honored and feted and we have extensive facilities for belly rubs. The six handed women of Rigel 3 are here.”

Captain James T. Wimsey: And...

Voice: “There is a toilet bowl with your name on it. Lot’s of dirty underwear too.”

Captain James T. Wimsey: Is there Grom gelato?

Voice: “Of course.”

Captain James T. Wimsey: Well it sounds like I have a duty to explore this strange new apartment. Notify the doorman and beam me down Scotty.


But seriously, when it comes to being annoying I truly have a gift. I am a creative genius. A veritable Hound Einstein. It can take your breath away (literally) I even astonish myself with my innovative activities.

So after a long and sweaty preliminary park walk (Elizabeth being under the illusion that my talents can be blunted if only I am sufficiently exercised), I proceeded not only to pull the bathroom towels off their racks but also to upset the large bowl of kibble (tiny BB sized custom pellets courtesy of Timber wolf Organics) laid out for me. Now instead of the relaxing post walk cocktail that Elizabeth envisioned, there she was on her hands and knees picking up copious quantities of minute bits of kibble, which of course I wanted to eat as soon as she was in possession of them (hound rule: things outside of the food bowl are infinitely more appealing than those things within; stolen is preferred but coerced is OK too). And when Elizabeth finally sank, exhaustedly onto the couch, refreshing cocktail in hand, I proceeded to deposit my large and equally refreshing backside on top of her. She nearly broke down. But it was only the beginning of the festivities as I initiated:

The Wimsey Guest Schedule:

4:30 am: Dawn is approaching. Time for a noisy snack (I am a free feeding Hound and just as if I were Santa Claus my humans leave kibble and water out for me in case I should feel peckish during the night).

4:45am: Loud slurping of water and noisy ear shaking and flinging of drool.
5am: Bedside check for exposed feet.--I like to lick these, causing much squealing and it commences the Bed Eviction process.

5:15 am: Park chin on window ledge, noisy inhaling of delicious Riverside Park at dawn smells. Human knows she should get up, but resists.

6am: Foot check. Feet well buried, so snag a hand to snuffle instead.

6:30am: Am running out of patience. Park is smelling eve more delicious, can hear fellow canines gleefully disporting themselves. Intensify foot licking and body poking activities.

6:45am: Step onto bed (we giant hounds do not find it necessary to jump onto furniture as it all so small) and physically shove human out of bed (with much messy face licking and snuffling).
6:48 am: Human races to get me out the door convinced that I have an urgent need to relieve myself. 1 ½ poopless hours later it becomes apparent that I had an urgent need for a Park walk.

Post walk: Cooked breakfast. Wherein I sprawl inconveniently across kitchen floor during cooking process.

9am: Raid the recyclables pile and begin the eco-friendly process of pre-recycle shredding.

And just think-- the day had barely begun!

Now frankly Elizabeth deserves to be pestered since she has been holed up non-productively watching (or trying to watch) Wimbledon, which I find quite inexplicable.

Hound # 1: Your serve.

Hound # 2: No your serve.

Hound #1: I am a hound, I don’t serve. I am always served.

Hound #2: Then give me the ball.

Hound #1: No, it’s mine.

Hound #2: What do you think of these new racquets.

Hound #1: Frankly, I prefer the slower pace of the traditional wood—graphite chews too quickly.

Hound #2: Well this is lawn tennis-- let’s see who can pee all over the lawn and dig it up the quickest!

Referee: Code violation!

Hound #1: Who’s he?

Hound # 2: I didn’t hear anything. Now let’s start the match. Remember you are not allowed to pee on my side of the net.

Hound #1: Can we eat the net?

Hound #2: Certainly, but you must jump over it first. And don’t forget to give the umpire your paw before we leave the court.

Hound #1: OK. And after we’re done we can hit the clubhouse—I noticed a lot of people wearing white.

Hound #2: They won’t be for long.

But in any case, Elizabeth was too busy taking care of me to watch much tennis. It is also pretty hard to hear the TV when I am making a racket with my nose—when I want to sniff something (which is most of the time) it is like living in the middle of an Atlantic gale (“Wimsey’s nose sounds like a wind tunnel”) While not a great fan of tennis, I am something of a Trekker.


Hound Trek: Part II

Alien: Welcome Great Hound. What’s mine is yours.

Captain James T. Wimsey: Yes, I know.

Spock: Hound to Captain Wimsey. Can you hear me Captain?

Captain: Yes. Spock. No need to shout. Just because I don’t have prick ears doesn’t mean I am deaf!

Spock: Have you made contact with the alien Captain?

Captain: Yes. It appears friendly but is of a strange appearance. It only seems to have two legs. Can’t imagine how it gets anywhere. Also, it seems to have no sense of smell. But it does have some esthetically pleasing red hair. Tricorder readings indicate a quantity of eatable animal protein and lots of excellent consumables such as paper, wood and fabric as well as some crunchy electronic devices.

Spock: Excellent captain. Please mark the location for future shore leaves.


Well anyway Maria is now fully recovered but Elizabeth is still cleaning. I have the feeling she will be picking up bits of kibble until next year’s Wimbledon (“Oh look a piece of vintage summer of ’07 kibble; it goes so well with my collection of Thanksgiving ’06 pieces”). But she shouldn’t worry because if one thing is certain it’s that…. I’ll be back!

Well time to go rescue lost tourists in the Central Park Ramble

Captain Wimsey