Friday, October 12, 2007

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 36
October 12, 2007

Hello Everyone. Wimsey here direct from New York City’s Hound HQ. Well we are getting into October and on Monday I was able to undertake a lengthy Central Park expedition in honor of Columbus Day, with my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth in tow. Now Columbus Day is always somewhat controversial, especially as my good friend Nanook the Newfy ( always insists that Vikings “discovered” America in the company of a large pack of Newfoundland Dogs. (I never did understand how one can discover something that already exists—like when I “discover” an unattended piece of carrot cake on the kitchen table and claim it in a particularly gustatory type way, no one seems to declare me a hero—although come to think of it my name does get shouted about quite a lot). And I would think that an entire continent is even more odiferous than a small piece of carrot cake. But humans have no real sense of smell so I suppose giant land masses are just as olfactorily invisible to them as small pieces of cake. And then there is the fact that Columbus’ massively expensive and dangerous expedition to the New World was undertaken in pursuit of completely useless materials such as gold and spices. Now if we Hounds were going to attempt such a risky task you can be sure that we would be much better incentivized:

Hound King and Queen: Welcome to our Court great explorer Wimsus. We want you to undertake a perilous expedition across a vast ocean for our greater glory.

Wimsus: I don’t think so. I’m not big on intangibles, especially if they cannot be eaten, smelled, shredded or peed upon.

Hound King and Queen: We understand; we do not rule over Hounds for nothing. But we digress. We believe that the New World contains a massive untapped cache of dirty underwear. In addition there are forests of virgin, unmarked trees that contain an abundance of strange stinky animals that are fun to chase and quite succulent to eat; there are also some small annoying ones with bushy tails that always make you think you can catch them, but you never can, so we advise ignoring these.

Wimsus: Hmm… dirty underwear, lots of trees to pee on and succulent smelly animals. Sounds pretty good. Even the deceptive bushy ones. I expect you will be hosting quite a lot of feasts in my honor when I return, too. But what are the dangers to which you alluded?

Hound King and Queen: Well we are not actually sure that you won’t fall off the edge of the earth.

Wimsus: Highly unlikely, I should think. I never fall off anything, except perhaps the bed when I am engaged in a particularly engrossing dream and I don’t expect I’ll have much time for naps what with all the underwear, trees and succulent new animals to think about. Also I have a very keen nose and when I point it west I am sure I can smell land. I think I shall name this new land Wimsica.

Anyway, if the Vikings had newfs, I think Columbus must have had bloodhounds. Who else could have discouraged him from landing on the cold, forbidding autumnal mainland of North America in favor of a nice trip to the sandy beaches of the Bahamas, home of the laid back and fun loving Arawak Indians. (Did you know the Arawaks invented the hammock, clearly they were a highly evolved nap-oriented people)? I am sure Columbus’ hounds knew it was better in the Bahamas--- a frolic on a sandy beach beats slogging through ice encrusted islands any day, as I continually tell Nanook. The Vikings may have been first but I bet Columbus’ people had
more fun—especially if there were Hounds involved.

Well the weather has only been moderately more chilly so I have only been moderately more insubordinate on my walks. I look forward to my autumn rebellion every year and the consternation it causes my humans. They tell me I become Wimsey Army of One as I go charging about, willfully ignoring the instructions being delivered via my prong. Perhaps as Halloween is approaching I should obtain a little camo as my costume. It might make up for having a ludicrously non-macho name like Wimsey. But as non-macho as my name is, I have discovered that in cyber space I am apparently the embodiment of machismo. I am continually receiving invitations on my My Space page from beautiful, semi-clad women offering to share their conspicuous charms with me. Now apart from the fact that there is no actual meal involved in reference to these thus useless charms, none of these ladies seem to be aware of the fact that I am a Hound (as attested to by my handsome picture) and that a lot of what they propose is illegal in most, if not all, states.

I seem to have become a Hound plagued by spam (and not the good kind either-- although why unwanted email should carry the appellation of such a delectable processed meat product, I can hardly say). In addition to invitations to view unclothed human females (like I don’t see that often enough at home) I also get information relating to enhancing my boy bits, which trust me, don’t need any more enhancing. According to my humans they are all too often in evidence, but that is the price they pay for being in the company of an exuberant and uninhibited Hound (My humans might actually pay attention to any offers for products that are de-enhancing, but those don’t seem to be especially popular). Also I get offers for hot stock tips, perhaps because my misleadingly intelligent and sagacious demeanor gives the impression of an interest in intelligent and sagacious investments. The actual truth is that I am more involved in spending hard earned cash than in investing it, unless of course there is a shredding of stock certificates involved. Then of course I get offers for online pharmacies hawking drugs like Valium and Xanax (which I am sure my humans would like to administer to me during my fall frisky attacks) but which I think my humans need far more than I do. Any species that sleeps for a paltry eight hours a day is bound to be a bit nervy. Finally I get offers for low interest mortgage rates (with no Hound Eligibility Rider as far as I can make out) and offers to work at home, which I do already by redecorating, and recycling and generally obviating the need for a shredder. Also I work hard at entertaining my humans which is why they are candidates for the Xanax.

Well it is time for our weekly visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art. This week we return to the great nation of France—land of food, fashion and bloodhounds—to examine an artist who definitely embodied the admirable single mindedness of The Hound. Claude Monet liked to paint water lilies—I mean he really, really really liked to paint them in the same way that I really, really, really like to shove my nose into Maria’s morning cereal. (Claude Monet, Water Lilies, 1920-1926, Musee de l’Orangerie). And if one painting of water lilies is good, 250 of them are even better! But of course, as much as I admire his stubborn devotion to painting water lilies, there is a small problem with the concept. With so many paintings of water lilies they all kind of look alike after a while. But here you can see that the insertion of a magnificent, art loving Hound lounging on one of these redundant lily pads instantly different
iates it from all the other 249 pictures of these fascinating water lilies. Water Wimseys.

Now I am pleased to report that the weather is shaping up to be rather brisk this afternoon, which means I will be a maniac on my leash for my evening walk. I have weeks of pent up desire for the sounds and scents of autumn in New York and want to impart my extreme joy to my humans so that they too may charge hither and thither appreciating the joys of the season. Perhaps today I will again “discover” Central Park and mark the territory as my own in the delightful manner of the male Hound.

Until next time,



Nanook and Pooka the Newfoundlands said...

You can have any weather above 70 degrees, my friend!

Nanook and Pooka the Newfoundlands said...

believe me wimsey, my mama is not unfamiliar with Neil. She is so far from unfamiliar as to have exited out the other side. Also, she regularly threatens to abscond with him despite him being much, much older, and married with kids.

My mama totally LOVES Neil Gaiman. AND he's friends with Tori Amos, which is just icing on the cake.