Friday, July 13, 2007

Wimsey's Blog:Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 23
July 13, 2007

Hello everyone, it’s me, Wimsey. I just noticed that today is Friday 13th, which people think is unlucky.

Things that can happen to a human on Friday 13th

▪Your leather couch becomes a giant rawhide
▪Your stuffed couch becomes a giant stuffed toy
▪Your best shoes end up looking like shoe laces
▪Garden transformation: landscape to moonscape
▪Friday dinner party food is magically converted into Friday dinner party leftovers
▪Your books are transformed into scrap paper
▪Your feather pillows become just feathers

But wait—these things happen to humans every day in the presence of a Hound! But my humans always feel a lot better about it if it happens on Friday the thirteenth (“Well of course Wimsey ate the bed. It’s Friday the thirteenth!”)

So why do we Hounds do it? As a matter of principle destruction is a lot of fun and we Hounds are all about fun (of course we would be happy to repair all of our damage except that we conveniently lack opposable thumbs). But also we like to feel that we serve a Higher Purpose by improving the human race. Detaching it from the evils of materialism and all that. From each according to his abilities (humans to provide stuff) and to each according to his need (Hounds to destroy stuff). Now normally I am not a proponent of Marxism when it comes to Human-Human relations, but for Human- Hound relations it actually works surprisingly well. But somehow I don’t think that Karl Marx would have approved of being relegated to being a great Hound philosopher. As far as I can determine from the books of his that I have eaten, he did not have much of a sense of humor and took himself rather seriously. Taking oneself seriously is another human failing that Hounds were put on this earth to combat: (God created the earth in 6 days, rested on the seventh but had a previously undisclosed brilliant idea on the 8th day: insert Hounds to keep humans in their place).

Human: I am a powerful investment banker.
Hound: I am going to eat your wingtips anyway.

Human: I am a glamorous celebrity.
Hound: Drool can only enhance the elegance of your couture.

Human: I am a billionaire real estate developer.
Hound: More buildings to pee on.

Human: My people came over on the Mayflower.
Hound: Mine with William the Conqueror. I win.

Human: I am a great music impresario.
Hound: I can sing better than your clients and their CDs make great eating.

Human: I am a world leader
Hound: Your trouser leg looks parched—let me fix that.

Human: I am royalty
Hound: Me too. I am The Hound King and your lap is my throne.

Anyway, Friday 13th or not we Hounds enjoy a bit of summer fun.

Wimsey’s Amusement Park

The Ferris Wheel Shred: A wheel in which desirable items such as clothing, books and furniture rotate for hounds to shred as they pass overhead.

The Carousel: To the accompanying music of baying, Hounds chew up the wooden horses.

The Concession Stand:
Hounds sneak up and steal the franks off the grill.

The Roller Coaster:
Hounds are gently rolled over as mechanical hands massage their bellies.

The Clown Chase: Hounds compete to chase away these bizarrely dressed and annoying humans.

The Drool Fling: Win magnificent stuffed toys by accurately flinging drool on pictures of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears.

Fun House: Your House

But anyway since the weather has improved here my human Maria and a friend of hers, Elizabeth, have been thinking about taking me on a picnic in Central Park. Just think how relaxing that is going to be! First they spread out a blanket. Then I chew on the blanket. Next they take out food. Then I drool into the food waiting for them to feed it to me (it is generally my policy never to steal food if I can get it peacefully by using positive reinforcement—it makes humans feel generous and they are always more cooperative if they think it was all their idea). Next come the beverages-- all of which are actually contained in plastic dog toys—at which I will bay forcefully and insistently until they are forthcoming. (Maria always forgets that noise canceling head phones are essential Wimsey picnic gear). Then I will shove my humans to the periphery of the blanket, sprawl out and roll over in the middle and poke at them until they rub my belly. Next I will sit up and scent air currents, drenching the blanket in drool. Finally I will smell something I simply must investigate and drag whomever is holding my leash off the blanket. And all the while passers by will come over to admire me and pet me (they never do this to my humans—so sad for them). Of course everyone will ask whether I am a good dog. Now whilst I am probably not a very good dog, I am in fact quite an excellent Hound:

A good dog fetches useful items
A good Hound eats useful items

A good dog lies at its human’s feet
A good Hound lies on its human

A good dog performs useful services
A good Hound demands useful services

A good dog worships its human
A good Hound is worshipped by its human

A good dog never begs
A good Hound never begs. It steals.

A good dog obeys commands
A good Hound issues commands

A good dog spreads joy
A good Hound spreads drool

A good dog loves its human
A good Hound loves itself

A good dog is smart
A good Hound is clever

But all this works out rather well, since I have noticed that Hound owners are absolutely besotted with their animals. It brings a whole new meaning to unconditional love. lso to masochism.

Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: Sit. Tell me why you have come to see me.
Patient: I have a Hound.
Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: That is very serious. Did you previously fantasize about having a Hound or is this a new phenomenon.
Patient: No. I always wanted one.
Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: I see. So the problem is rooted deep in your subconscious. Tell me about the first time you fantasized about having a Hound.
Patient: Well, my mother tied me to the toilet to potty train me and I remember thinking that if I had a Hound it could chew away the ropes.
Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: I see. You felt yourself powerless and in need of being rescued by a strong, handsome magnificent beast.
Patient: Yes. Then I saw my parents having sex and they promised me a Hound to make me forget.
Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: I see the Hound is associated with suppressed memories. And what is your Hound like.
Patient: He rules my life. He takes everything he wants. He never takes my needs into consideration.
Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: Well Hounds are basically Ids on four legs. It appears that you have transferred your traumatically suppressed Id into this Hound. So what stops you from employing your ego to assert control over this canine Id.
Patient: He is very cute.
Dr. Sigmund Wimsey: They always are. Well our 45 minutes are up. hat will be 1000 marks.

Well, anyway, so much for it being Friday the thirteenth. I intend to take full advantage as ever. I have also been honing my “Wimsey the Flying Hound” skills to liven things up on these special days. When I am being taken downstairs for a walk, I stop five or six steep steps up and then launch myself into space. My lengthy ears make me quite aerodynamically stable (kind of like Dumbo) although I am quite a terrifying site as I soar over the remaining steps to land on the landing. Much squealing and squeaking ensues (“Oh no. Wimsey thinks he is Superman again!”). Of course I did turn Elizabeth white as a sheet when I clambered onto a high boulder when off-roading in the Central Park Ramble (staying on the paths is so boring and so unnecessary when I am attached to a 20 foot leash) and prepared to launch myself to earth. She had to talk me down. But there is always next time. Perhaps after I am done wreaking havoc on the relaxing picnic.

Anyway, time to think about the menu…

Until next time,

Wimsey the Über Hound


Gus said...

Wimsey: Can Dad use your Karl Marx comments in his Political Philosophy classes this fall?

Boomer and his mom Carol said...

Wow, that therapy session was cheap. Mom spends lots more because there are three of us and a stinky kitty in the house. Are you available next Tuesday at 4:00 pm for an appointment? I might refer her to you.

Anonymous said...


You left out stuff involving tipping over the bed because 40 miles away there was a thunder boom. That's okay - you're a city fella.

/Arthur J. GWPDA

Boomer and his mom Carol said...

Wimsey, you rock! Check out my blog for more details!

Peanut said...

Wimsey I think my mom needs a therapy session with you.

Nanook and Pooka the Newfoundlands said...

MY people came over with Leif Erikson. I WIN!