Friday, July 20, 2007

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound


Entry # 24
July 20, 2007

Hello Everyone. It’s me, Wimsey. Well it’s been quite a stormy week here in the Great Metropolis and like most of my kind, I object to being pelted with water from above-- it’s like being forced to take an unscheduled bath. It’s the human equivalent of going outside for what you think is a nice, pleasant walk and getting a root canal instead. Humans would be mighty put out, I can tell you. A species that objects to entirely modest amounts of drool, hair and stench would have serious issues with surprise root canals, I can tell you.

But anyway, along with the rain there has been all of this thunder. Now my human Maria’s friend Elizabeth has explained to me about lightening and the transfer of electrons, blah, blah (when electrons start to be mentioned, it is definitely time for me to try and insert a large hound tongue into her mouth—a most effective weapon against her excessive loquacity) and about how thunder is really just a compression wave caused by the rapid and sudden expansion of air heated by the lightening. Good. So the next time I compress her vital organs with my tush I will just explain that the pain she feels is caused by the sudden stimulation of her nociceptors in response to the sudden application of a 125lb. tush on her sensory neurons. Knowing what causes something doesn’t make it any less obnoxious. Besides everyone knows that thunder is really caused by the baying of the Great Hound God who is displeased with humanity for trying to assert itself over his devoted minions. The way to get his baying to stop is the same way as to get me stop—give me what I want. (of course this will not affect my most recent vocal styling—the Triumphant Bay. I employ the Triumphant Bay when I “find” someone—like when Elizabeth comes out of her apartment building to meet me. Triumphant bays have a slightly higher pitch than the other kinds and are more prolonged—this is an especially important attribute as they are most often executed in close proximity to an ear ((another excellent way to make my humans squeal in pain)). Other bays in my vast repertoire by the way, include the “hello, come play with me” bay, the “where do you think you are going” bay, the “give that to me” bay, the “give that to me now” bay, the “traffic light has stopped our walk” bay, and the forceful “I am seriously peeved” bay. But I digress. As I was saying, thunder is caused by the displeasure of the Great Hound God.


Mount Olympus

Zeus: Gather round everyone. Today we welcome a new god to our pantheon. He is called Droule and he is the Great Hound God.

Hera: Look how cute he is!

Hermes (no not the seller of scarves, ties and leather goods costing the GNP of small nations, but the god better known as Mercury): I am the winged messenger. My attribute is my winged helmet. What is Droule’s attribute?

Zeus: His excessively long ears. They enable him to fly about with great agility. Also, he uses them to collect dirt and water to fling at disobedient humans when he ear whips them. His secondary attribute is his enormous nose, which is wet and cold and he uses it to poke people in startlingly inconvenient places.

Ares (also known as Mars): So is he a mighty god of punishment like me?

Zeus: No, he is more like a Mighty God of Extreme Peskiness.

Athena: And does he impart wisdom like me?

Zeus: Well he imparts quite a bit of dirt, kibble and drool if that helps. Hair too, I understand. The short spiky kind that sticks to your face and makes you feel like a porcupine. But mostly it seems that humans impart things to him-- like time, money and possessions.

Poseidon: I can command the seas. What can he command?

Zeus: Well pretty much everything else. Even the gods. You’ll notice that Hera has just fed him her dinner.

Hera: But he’s so cute!

Aphrodite: Can he inspire great love like I can?

Zeus: You have no idea. At least when humans fall in love with each other, they get something in return.

Apollo: But can he sing and beguile the humans like me?

Zeus: Well he does sing quite a bit. But it’s kind of painful really. You see he creates these compression waves…



And of course, what would a Great Hound God be without a Hound Oracle:

Supplicant: Oh Great Hound Oracle please accept my offering.

Hound Oracle: What have you brought me?

Supplicant: A lovely piece of brisket Your Houndiness.

Hound Oracle: Ah, a New York supplicant.

Supplicant: Please advise me. My boyfriend dumped me. Will I ever find love?

Hound Oracle: Rub my belly to facilitate my connection with the Mighty Hound God and I will consult him on your behalf….Yes. The Hound God does see love in your future. He is black and tan, has big feet and enjoys the consumption of roast meats. Give him these in moderation otherwise up you will upset his stomach. If you are foolish enough to still pine for the other kind of love the Hound God suggests a shorter, more angled hair style. Also, he says red is not your color. Next!

Supplicant 2: I beseech the guidance of The Hound God, Oh Great Oracle.

Hound Oracle: What have you brought me?

Supplicant 2: A carton of Grom gelato.

Hound Oracle. Very nice. The Mighty Hound God is pleased. What is your question?

Supplicant 2: It’s my Hound. He has eaten three couches.

Hound Oracle: Scratch me behind my ears to focus my concentration as I commune with
the Mighty Hound God…Hmm. The Mighty Hound God wants to know how many hours you walk your Hound.

Supplicant 2: Four hours per day your Wise Houndship.

Hound Oracle: Only four hours? And you are surprised that he eats couches. The Hound God counsels 8 hours, four times a day. Also look into tatami mats. They are better for your back and cheaper. Next!

Supplicant 3: “Sit.” submissive hound oracle.

Hound Oracle: In your dreams. What have you bought me?

Supplicant 3: I am Cesar Milan. I am calm and assertive and bring you rules, boundaries and limitations.

Huge clap of thunder. A bolt of lightening Cesar Millan vanishes.

Hound Oracle: No one messes with The Mighty Hound God!

And in case you’ve failed to notice, we Hounds are quite delightfully transaction oriented. Virtually everything concerning a Hound has a cost: (“Oh look, Wimsey only charged me a 10 minute belly rub to let me put on his walking equipment; I guess he really had to go out”)


Hound Store:

Today’s sales:

Item on sale:
price

Intact (mostly) couch: One 3 hour walk
Un-molested dinner: 1 roast chicken with yams
Un-stolen dinner: 2 roast chickens with yams
Sleeping past dawn: 1 hour bed cuddling
Shoes: 5 rawhide bones
Towels without holes 5 stuffed toys
Underwear without holes Priceless



But of course back in classical times there would also have had to be various exquisite marble temples dedicated to the worship of the Hound (today we call these “homes.”) and a flatteringly anatomically correct statute by Praxiteles to encourage further Hound worship—not to mention offerings of the Athenian equivalent of brisket which the temple Hounds would put to good use.

But generally speaking, there are some very sound reasons why people worship Hounds. Hounds are aspirational. Who would not desire to be unconditionally loved, cossested and admired no matter how much damage and chaos they brought to those around them? Who would not aspire to our absolute and unconditional sense of entitlement, our unequivocal view of the world as having been created expressly for out benefit? And who would not like to live in an environment where actions have no consequences, excuses were always made for us and we could do just as we pleased whenever we pleased. (“Look at the that Wimsey—running around with not a stitch on, peeing on anything he feels like, goosing people’s bottoms, lounging about having meals prepared for him; and everyone is continuously concerned for his comfort and welfare…) In fact, being a Hound is a lot like being Madonna (and not the Biblical one either): The Hound is the Ultimate Celebrity (but without the rehab and the third world children). So is it any wonder that people worship and admire us as they do the celebrities in their midst?

Well, time to go--it should be a beautiful weekend here in The City (New Yorkers always refer to New York as The city (no one has broken it to them yet that there are others) and I will be strolling around Central Park being admired and having my picture taken quite as usual—all of which is expected keep Great Hound God blissfully silent.

Until next time,

Wimsey,
Admired by all, beholden to none, (except of course The Great Hound God)









4 comments:

knicksgrl0917 said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Nanook and Pooka the Newfoundlands said...

you've gone all Egyptian Temple Cat on me, Wimsey!

Wuzzup?!

Bogart said...

Hey Wimsey, I was thinking about you with all of the stuff flying out of the ground in NYC... just wanted to make sure you were ok!

Love,
Bogart

Boomer and his mom Carol said...

Oh great hound oracle, when will mom buy me my next bully stick?