Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 33
September 21, 2007

Hello Everyone. Wimsey here, reporting from the City that Never Sleeps (kind of like me when my humans want me to). Well, Wimsey Bath Night went off without a hitch except for my nose mysteriously making its way into the post bath takeout chicken tikka
masala, but my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth had a wonderful time admiring their handiwork—to wit, me. So being the object of intense admiration, even though I was rendered chicken tikka masala-less—was pretty good. Also, I have left behind plenty of mementos of Wimsey bath night, as Elizabeth discovered that conventional cleaning products are apparently no match for my wet spiky hairs—trying to clean with them only results in moving the hair around instead of getting rid of it. Elizabeth wants to write to Proctor and Gamble and suggest that they develop a Hound Hair Bathroom Cleaner.

Then on Saturday Pet Chauffeur took us all down to Madison Square Park for the AKC Responsible Dog Owner Day where I got to represent The Bloodhound. My humans marched up to the check-in desk and announced that “we are the bloodhound.” Now seldom have I heard anything more ridiculous come out of their mouths (which is saying something, I can tell you when you are used to hearing things like “Wimsey would you like a cookie?” when , yes, I bloody well would like a cookie seeing as how I have my nose in the cookie pouch). Anyway, Maria and Elizabeth are manifestly not the bloodhound, so their use of the first person plural was both silly as well as being inaccurate. Neither of them can bay, fling drool or even smell anything properly. Their ears are ludicrously short, their heads don’t come to a point and they are singularly incompetent at getting what they want, particularly in the presence of an actual bloodhound. Also people don’t constantly tell them how beautiful they are when they walk down the street. But clearly their desire to be “the bloodhound” is aspirational and one cannot fault them for wanting to be me, seeing that I am absolutely perfect and they, sadly, are not.

Of course there really should be a Responsible Human Owners Day so that we canines can demonstrate our mastery of responsible human ownership.

The Agility Ring: see humans leap over tables chairs and beds as they attempt to catch the Hound who has just stolen their new Italian leather gloves.

The Obedience ring: see owners come when called, and obey such non-verbal commands as feed me, walk me and give me a belly rub.

There could be lots of toy and treat booths demonstrating how we get our humans to spend their money responsibly and such healthful contests such as “human towing” and “naughty hound chasing” that keep humans strong and fit.

Anyway, once established at my table I was in fine voice and bayed pretty much continuously throughout the whole event. I got to meet lots of nice people (none of whom is likely to acquire a bloodhound after I got through sliming them with drool and breaking their ear drums with my singing) and sniff many bottoms-- mostly canine. There was also juggler of rubber balls who came by regularly because she said I was such an appreciative audience and of course everybody enjoyed watching me watch the juggler. And then there was a lovely female Black Russian Terrier next to us who was also a show dog and I was very keen to impress her, although since she too was unfixed no one was letting me get anywhere near her (they even put me in jail ((really my crate, but it is jail to me)) for a while)! But I am convinced that one day I will put my much maligned testicles to their approved use and produce a bouncing crop of baby Wimseys. And then we can all take over the world, one susceptible human at a time. We will be like the Wimsey Soprano family and I can be the bloodhound don:

Don Wimsey: Come my little Tony Hound—give your papa’s butt a sniff and drool on my paw. I am sending you to the Old Country (Illinois) where you will be in control of the Midwest region. I want you to corner the market on kibble so it becomes much more expensive to feed us than steak. Also I want you to promote the healthful effects of cheese on the digestive system of the Hound.

Salvatore Hound: The Midwest is mine!

Don Wimsey: No resource guarding Salvatore. There is plenty of territory for everyone to mark. Anyway, I want you to be boss of the West Coast. We are having problems with this pesky upstart called Cesar Millan—I want him whacked. Preferably with your tail but I give you permission to use your ears too if you get a chance. Also, get yourself adopted by Brangelina and infiltrate Hollywood. I want a bloodhound in every mansion and starring roles for bloodhounds in every movie.

Silvio Hound: What do I get Papa?

Don Wimsey: You Silvio are headed East to New York. I want you to go to Wall Street and create a run in the market for Hound Futures. I want the power of Wall Street in the paws of The Hound. I want a rawhide bone tax applied to all stock trades. Also I want starring operatic roles written for bass baritones hound voices with performances at Lincoln Center.

Carmella Hound: Is there any role for me papa?

Don Wimsey: Yes, we Wimseys don’t let the gender of a Hound interfere with our plans for world domination. I want you to go to Paris and insure that all perfume smells like Hound. Also I want you to use your design skills to make Hound Distressed clothing the toast of the catwalk.


Well, you can see how fun it would be if a Wimsey clan ran things our way. So I am ever on the lookout for a lady friend who wants to create world dominating puppies.

Well the other new thing here in New York is that the Metropolitan Museum of Art—one of the world’s great art museums-- is having a Rembrandt exhibition. So as an homage, this week’s hound art is by Rembrandt (with a little assistance from Wimsey).

The Night Watch (Rembrandt van Rijn, 1642, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam) Now this painting was commissioned by the captain of a civic militia guard and is famous for its colossal size (11ft by 14 feet) and its use of light and shadow and the creation of motion. However, you can immediately see that there is a problem with the painting: all of the guards are handicapped—they can neither hear intruders nor smell them and they are missing two legs. Also, like most humans, they would have problems detecting the small movements created by approaching malefactors. But with the addition of a Hound sounding the alarm, all these problems are obviated and the militia can have a successful night watch. (The Wimsey Watch)

Well, it’s time for me to go shred a Chinese takeout menu that someone has foolishly slid under the door. I myself am preferring Indian these days.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the responsible human owner