Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 37
October 19, 2007

Hello Everyone. It’s me, Wimsey, reporting from that land of endless summer, New York City. At this rate my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth will be able to walk me in green and red Christmas tee shirts. Do you think the Grinch stole Autumn?

The trees are still green in defiance of all the laws of nature with which I am familiar, which as a student of Newtonian physics (see entry # 9), is quite a few, especially the ones having to do with the havoc I can wreak on the human body. I am proud of the fact that I am the only creature extant to consider physics a contact sport. Perhaps I should start a sister organization to the World Wrestling Federation—The World Physics Federation-- where Hounds of all weight classes can demonstrate their prowess in such exciting applications of physics as human towing, leash arm dislocating and body slamming (I myself always go for that spot just at the back of the knee that causes humans to collapse like nine pins). And speaking of wrestling matches, on Sunday I was able to participate in an actual pick up bout in Central Park complete with a cheering ring of fans:

Wimsey (125lb, hound class) vs. The Puppy (8lbs, lab mix class)

Gene Okerlund: OK, the contenders have entered the ring. The crowd is cheering wildly.

Bobby Heenan: I don’t know about this bout Gene; it would seem that Wimsey has a considerable size and weight advantage here.

Gene: I can see what you mean Bobby, but we hear that this is a very fierce little puppy. What do you think of Wimsey’s costume?

Bobby: I don’t believe that is a costume Gene—he actually comes like that.

Gene: You mean all those wrinkles and folds are entirely him?

Bobby: That’s right Gene.

Gene: I wonder how much Botox it would take to smooth him out!

Bobby: Won’t happen Gene—the wrinkles are his trademark; he feels that they lull his opponents into a false sense of security because they think he is old.

Bobby: Well the puppy’s trainer has given it a pep talk and placed it right in front of Wimsey. Look! It’s charging the Big Hound!

Gene: Wimsey’s running away! He seems puzzled by its antics of this young pup.

Bobby: Yes, the pup seems to be engaging in an unconventional hopping motion that has apparently thrown Wimsey for a loop. But Wimsey’s gamely trying another approach. Now the pup seems to be crab walking sideways-- a maneuver that is totally mystifying Wimsey.

Gene: Oh no—the pup’s got hold of Wimsey’s ear—the Big Hound is going down! He’s on his back! The pup’s going for the wrinkled dewlap! And the crowd loves it—they are cheering for this new young contender. What a match! Maybe Wimsey should consider that Botox after all.

And that is just an excerpt. Well you can imagine how exciting it was—an entire circle of humans were deeply engrossed in watching my thirty minute battle with The Puppy. Now in my defense, he really was a very fierce puppy and I am rather a peace loving kind of Hound –one might almost say wimpy--and he was employing some unusual moves that probably should have been ruled illegal—just like the ones I use when I wrestle my humans.

In any case, the bout followed an exciting afternoon at the Canine Country Fair (see pictures) which is organized by the New York City Parks Department and where I got to do a lot of meeting and greeting and of course some open air concertizing. Sadly, as you will see, I had to wear that obnoxious Halti so I couldn’t charge about with my usual abandon. I do like the fact that it is black and strappy and kind of downtown and S&M looking (although not nearly as much as my car harness) and I saw several other canines similarly equipped; it’s kind of like a canine mark of Cain—“there goes a disobedient and rambunctious hound”-- which I suppose is not such a bad rep to have, especially as I have kind of a sappy name. My namesake, the English detective, Lord Peter Wimsey was a sensitive, aristocratic chap whose crime solving abilities were much more the product of brain than brawn. Can’t think of why I am named after him.

Anyway, also present at the fair were the good folks of the ASPCA where Elizabeth volunteers and whose booth I like to visit. Now even though I am not a rescue (although I often feel like I need to be rescued from the various ministrations of my humans) I fully support the organization by donating some of Elizabeth’s time that she would normally devote to me. Let no one ever accuse me of not being generous—I even allow Maria a small segment of couch upon which to sit.

But in spite of my obvious generosity and fine houndly traits, getting any of my humans’ attention these days is becoming increasingly difficult. They have become fascinated with this TV show called “Dancing With the Stars”. And lest you think it is the finer points of Ballroom Dancing that are responsible for this fascination, think again. Really they are interested in viewing, reviewing and re-reviewing (thanks to the magic of the DVR) the charms of a certain dancer, to wit a guy called Maksim Chmerkovskiy (maybe I shouldn’t complain about my name after all). And the ladies think that I drool! Well these days the only topic of conversation on our walks seems to be this Max character—from his waxed chest to his exceedingly elastic hips, to his grace, charm, dance diva ego, sex appeal and performance energy. In short, the ladies think he is hot. In the extreme. Now this is very discouraging, for although I am quite often declared to be cute, adorable, handsome, beautiful and magnificent, it is not quite the same thing as being hot. Guys out there will know what I am talking about—this female fascination with dark and dangerous bad boys who you can never be (although I am kind of good at the bad part). It’s giving me a complex and we Wimseys don’t complex easily. If I ever meet this guy I will bite him.

So it is therefore very appropriate that this weeks’ visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art should concern The Dance.

Two Dancers on A Stage (Edgar Degas, 1874, Courtauld Institute of Art, London). French impressionist Edgar Degas was justifiably famous for his “through the keyhole” paintings of the arduous life of Parisian ballerinas. However, beautiful and poignant these paintings may be, Degas missed a major opportunity to enhance them with the addition of a gorgeous, graceful dancing Hound. As you can see the insertion of the Hound adds new interest to a scene so familiar to admirers of Degas (although I must say, I think the tutu makes me look fat). Anyway we can fully admire the grace and beauty of the Hound with his swan like neck in full extension, his delicate feet positioned en avant and his manly attributes boldly displayed.

Well tonight is a Wimsey bath night—I am apparently booked for a filming (I never can figure out what to call these activities in this digital age—pixel capturing just doesn’t have the same ring) of a reality TV show tomorrow, so sadly, I must be groomed. Fortunately the show is not “Dancing with the Stars” and if anyone knows where I can find Maksim Chmerkovskiy, please let me know—I have a bone to pick with him.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the sadly neglected

The Enemy