Wimsey's Blog:Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 26
August 3, 2007

Hello everyone. Wimsey here--reporting as usual from Hound Central in the heart of New York’s Upper West Side. We are now officially in the dog days of summer. Of course all the days of all the seasons of my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth’s lives are dog days. Or more specifically Wimsey days, as I dominate every facet of their existence.


The Origin of the Dog (Hound) Days of Summer

Ancient # 1: It is so hot and sticky that my animal Houndus refuses to go look for succulent animals.

Ancient #2: Perhaps we can motivate him by feeding him some chunks of delicious meat.

Ancient #1: Well he’s eaten the meat, but now seems more inclined to a nap.

Ancient #2: Perhaps if you scratch his tummy it will speed digestion and he will become active again.

Ancient #1: It doesn’t seem to be working.

Ancient # 2: Why don’t we stimulate him by giving him an exciting squeaky toy to play with?

Ancient #1: Well he’s ripped up the toy and now seems to be lounging on the divan again.

Ancient #2: Perhaps if we play chase and wrestle games with him it will rile him up sufficiently to go out and chase and wrestle some dinner.

Ancient #1: Whew, I am exhausted, but it seems we have just stimulated Houndus to roll around in the grass. How are we going to explain that we have spent many hours entertaining Houndus yet there are no comestibles forthcoming?

Ancient #2: The way we always explain inconvenient things—we blame the stars. Look up; don’t you think that that cluster over there looks a lot like Houndus? We’ll call that group Houndus Major and name that that really bright star Sirius the Dog Star and claim that it is in charge of all of Houndus’ bad behavior. In fact, it has been traveling very close to the sun lately, so we will say that the star dictates that during these special dog days it is too hot for Houndus to work. That way no one will blame us for wasting the day entertaining him. So it’s not really our fault that he doesn’t want to hunt and of course, Houndus is blameless also, which is the way he likes it.

Ancient #1; I guess it’s another salad night. I wonder if Houndus has left us any grass to eat?

Now personally, I have always gotten a kick out of the fact that there is a constellation called the Great Hound, since this is how I am referred to by my humans (although they generally address me as “Sir” as in: Elizabeth to Maria: “The Great Hound appears to be crushing my internal organs again.” Maria to Me: “Is Sir feeling peckish? Perhaps Sir would care to consume some roast turkey over here at his feeding station?”). After all, I don’t recall any constellations named Maria Macilentus or Elizabeta Garrulus.

Anyway, in honor of these official dog days (August 3-11 approximately) I have created a new verb:


Hound [hound], pron. haund-verb Origin: bef. 900; ME h(o)und, OE hund; c. D hond, ON hundr, Dan, Sw hund, G Hund, Goth hunds; akin to L canis, Gk kýōn (gen. kynós), Skt śván (gen. śunas), OIr cú (gen. con), Welsh ci (pl. cwn), Tocharian A kū, Lith šuõ ]

def. To Hound: to take Wimsey out for his midday walk, then waste one half of the afternoon sitting with him in the park and the other half of the afternoon entertaining him in one’s apartment; to neglect all useful and remunerative employment for the sole benefit and enjoyment of Wimsey.

Well my pad injury is still healing and since I can’t go for my afternoon run with Running Paws, Elizabeth is spending her afternoons hounding instead of working-- a course of action of which I heartily approve. Although she does try to resist the temptation to hound exclusively (“Perhaps I can work for 10 minutes and then hound for fifty”) but in the words of the immortal Borg “Resistance is Futile.” But having me around is quite useful as I am very supportive of the deal that Elizabeth is working on and as such show great enthusiasm whenever any of her phones or Skype rings (more money for her means more presents for me). I especially like her landline, which is located in a strategic position next to the couch. Whilst she talks on it, I sit on her and offer houndly advice in her ear. The only downside is that I can’t get her to squeal properly when she is on one of these calls.

And of course I believe that as a Hound my character provides her with a major source of inspiration—I am after all determined, persistent, tenacious, firm, immovable (quite literally), indefatigable, insistent, obstinate, perseverant, relentless, resolute, steadfast, pertinacious, stubborn, unrelenting, unremitting, unshakable and of course dogged. Also, I always get my way. Not a bad role model for challenging projects. I think I would have done quite well on Wall Street.

Financial Hound: Would you like to invest in my deal?
Potential Investor: No, I don’t think I want to invest in your deal.

(Actual Hound Would you like me to sit on you?)
(Human: No, I don’t think I want you to sit on me.)

Financial Hound: You will make a lot of money in this deal.
Potential Investor: No, I don’t think so.

(Actual Hound: I will keep you warm if I sit on you.)
(Human: I don’t care)

Financial Hound: Everyone else wants to invest in this deal.
Potential Investor: Still no.

(Actual Hound: Nonsense. People like the feeling of a warm hound sitting on them).
(Human: Still no.)

Financial Hound: I know that you want to invest in this deal.
Potential Investor: No, I don’t think so.

(Actual Hound: I know you really want me to sit on you)
(Human: No I don’t.)

Financial Hound: People seldom know what they really want.
Potential Investor: No deal

(Actual Hound: You don’t really know what you are missing)
(Human: I don’t want to find out).

Financial Hound: This deal will be fun, trust me.
Potential Investor: How can a deal be fun?

(Actual Hound: You will enjoy me sitting on you, trust me).
(Human: Why is a 125lb. dog sitting on me fun?)

Financial Hound: Because everything I do is fun (for me, anyway)
Potential Investor: Well…

(Actual Hound: Because I will be having fun)
(Human: I don’t know..)

Financial Hound: Also if you don’t invest, I will drool on you, sit on you and bay in your ear.
Potential Investor: Where’s my checkbook. You win.
Financial Hound: I always do. It is the nature of the Hound.

(Actual Hound: Look on the bright side—if I sit on you you won’t have me bothering you anymore.)
(Human: OK. Anything to get you to stop bothering me).
(Actual Hound: Good. Now, would you like to scratch me?)

We Hounds are impossible to resist.

The Hound Borg

Wimsiius of Borg: Look there are humans. We must assimilate them.
We are the Hound collective. We belong to the Great Borg Kennel. Our mission is to control your mind, your actions and your wallet. I am Captain Wimsiius of Borg. Resistance is futile.

Human #1: Ooooh he’s so cute. I didn’t know alien species could be so adorable.

Human #2: May we pet you Wimsiius?

Wimsiius: Yes. Also We desire a belly rub.

Human #1: Of course. Your wish is our command.

Human #2: Perhaps he is hungry. May we offer you our lunches?

Wimsiius: That depends on whether We approve of your culinary choices. For future reference We are fond of pizza.

Humans: We will order a large, extra cheese right away, oh handsome alien.

Wimsiius: Now please turn over all your cash, credit cards and rawhides.

Humans: We will comply oh Great Hound of Borg.

Wimsiius: You may never go anywhere without Us.

Humans: Why should be ever desire such an unpleasant thing. It would make us feel very guilty.

Wimsiius: No vacations may be taken in which We cannot participate

Humans: We will comply oh Master Hound.

Wimsiius of Borg: You must never complain about Our odor and drool and under no circumstances attempt to bathe Us.

Humans: We find your fragrance most delightful.

Wimsiius: The words “nail clippers” must never again pass your lips.

Humans: Perish the thought most Wrinkled One.

Wimsiius: You must spend long hours escorting me around the park.

Humans: What a wonderful life we will have as part of the Borg Hound collective

Wimsiius: Actually, you will have no life.

And speaking of resisting temptation, I believe that all this hounding has given me a serious park addiction. And who wouldn’t be addicted: I sit enthroned on a park bench like The Giant Hound King of the Upper West Side and people stop to pay me homage and tribute. The more park I get, the more I want. I may have to join Lindsay Lohan in rehab.

Anyway, time for a pre-hounding nap. I want to be fresh and alert for the challenge of Elizabeth’s recyclables pile this afternoon. I hear she has some new milk cartons.

Until next time,

Wimsey: the Gordon Gekko of Hounds (Can I get pinstripes in black and tan?)