Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

lEntry # 35
October 5, 2007

Hello everyone. It’s me Wimsey, and I am mighty peeved, I can tell you. For some weeks now I have been eagerly awaiting the arrival of frisky inducing fall weather and it still seems to be summer. Unfortunately, the days are still getting shorter which means less daylight in which I am able to cavort about Central Park in the evening. And the leaves upon which I love to pee are still clinging firmly to their trees. I am convinced that this all the fault of my human Maria and her hound control obsessed friend Elizabeth. They are deliberately keeping the weather warm to thwart me. How-- I am not sure exactly—perhaps it is their excessive carbon footprint which is contributing to global warming (I never could figure out what a carbon foot print is —I have really big foot prints but none of them are carbon). Anyway, I have decided that an alternative explanation as to how they are able to keep the weather this warm is that they are really witches (and not in the way that their boyfriends meant it either). It’s actually becoming quite trendy to be a witch, -- an amusing social tidbit to drop at a cocktail party for instance (And what do you do? Oh, I am a witch. My new book of spells is just being brought out by Random House and I’ll be on Oprah this week). It has all become quite fashionable in a Mists of Avalon kind of way and although the only two words in English that I know are “sit” and “Elizabeth” (I don’t have a flat and pointy head for nothing) I am keeping a close ear out for any talk of “the goddess” and such like.

Evidence that my humans are witches

They wear black a lot

There are large vessels in their kitchens (they call them pots, I call them cauldrons)

The more I talk about my plans for frisky fall behavior, the warmer it gets

Maria keeps talking about getting a cat (ostensibly to keep me company, but really as a familiar to keep me under control—she’ll probably name it Pywacket)

They speak an incomprehensible language (they call it English, I call it witch)

They use powerful magic to completely take over my mind (they say it is turkey, but is it really?)

They are always using “spell check.”

So this explains a lot—like why Maria prefers a broom to the vacuum cleaner and why Elizabeth has a pointy winter hat. But if I am to live in a coven, I surely think that I deserve the status of chief sorcerer. I think Hound magic would be superior to human magic, if for no other reason than hound everything is superior to human anything ---And I wouldn’t even need a pointy hat.

Sorcerer Wimsey’s Book of Spells

Long Bay, two short squeaks: You will leave your clothing (preferable dirty) around unattended

Short Bay two short squeaks: You have an irresistible urge to rub my belly.

Long Bay, one medium squeak: You will turn your back on a kitchen table loaded with tasty comestibles

Two long bays: The Gentle leader has mysteriously been flushed down the toilet.

Two short bays: Poof the nail clippers vanish! (PS: no one should ever accuse me of not being an empathetic hound—I don’t let Maria do her own nails, either)

Two long bays, two long squeaks: The ear cleaning solution has been dumped down the drain

Two long bays, one long squeak: Poof! A cup of vanilla Grom gelato appears.

Triple long bay: You have an irresistible urge to spend 6 hours in Central Park

Bay squeak bay: You will resist the urge to scrape the drool off of the walls—I like the way it looks and smells

Bay squeak squeak bay: You will leave the toilet lid up--water bowls are so bourgeois

Squeak squeak bay bay: Leave my poop alone! How would you like it if I stole your mail—you communicate with pen and ink, I communicate with poop and pee.

Triple squeak: you will not pull me out of the 20th precinct—I have some doughnuts to find


Anyway, I have lots of spells at my command, to which my humans can well attest. My wish is their command. So I will work on finding a spell to get the weather to change.

However, I must say that there is some compensation for the weather being unseasonably warm—lots of people and their dogs are out and about in the park (I tow my humans in and they have to tow me out!) and I have made two new friends—co-incidentally both fawn colored French bulldogs; one of them, called Jacques, likes to climb on me when I lie down. Then much in the manner of an elephant I get to my feet and he rides on my back. Everyone thinks this is pretty hilarious which means we do it quite a bit. There is nothing quite so much fun as finding new ways to make myself conspicuous and being ridden by a French bulldog is surely one of them. Making oneself conspicuous, if you are a Hound, actually requires a high degree of creative talent. After all, I run around without clothes, relieve myself publicly wherever I want, sing at the top of my lungs, inspect my testicles, stick my nose into people’s crotches and filch people’s water bottles and nobody even gives it a second thought. So I have to be pretty inventive about these things.

And speaking about being inventive, I am delving into a new medium for this week’s Houndart. Heretofore we have examined the improving presence that a Hound can make to a painting. But the range of artistic expression where the Hound can play a significant role is not just limited to oil and canvas. This week’s visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art concerns one of the world’s great sculptures:

The Winged Victory of Samothrace (sculptor unknown, circa 220 to 190 BC, Musee du Louvre). This beautiful marble sculpture depicts Nike, the winged goddess of victory (not the winged goddess of athletic apparel as is commonly thought today), and was discovered in 1863 on the island of Samothrace by an amateur French archeologist. (Another example of the excellent taste of the French, whose finely honed sensibilities led them to develop the exquisite Bloodhound). The statue probably was commissioned to commemorate a naval victory by the island of Rhodes. Sadly, the beauty of this sculpture is marred by the loss of its head, which was never found. But this can be easily remedied and what better a head to have than that of a perpetually victorious Hound.

The Winged Wimsey of Samothrace

Anyway, nothing much of significance happened this week other than the fact that Maria has been busy trying to bake a perfect focaccia (mixing up batter in her cauldrons) and I sample all her creations and advise her on their hound worthiness. Elizabeth was absent without permission (mine) for a couple of days on business and I had to give her a stern face licking about the inadvisability of this. Trying to earn a living is a poor excuse for neglecting a Hound of my caliber. Plus I felt totally naked without the presence of the complete coven.

So, until next time,

Wimsey the Sorcerer, CL (coven leader)

(here I am with my magic snake)