Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 41
November 16, 2007

Hello Everyone. It’s me, Wimsey, coming to you from the glorious upper west side of Manhattan where all the women are strong (they have to be) and all the Hounds are above average. Well autumn is in full swing here with the leaves finally splashing out in their autumnal best. But sadly, the NYC Parks Department has gotten wind of my leaf rampaging activities and now their lovely, leafy pee-able piles are assembled in inaccessible canvas bins rather than in Wimsey friendly mounds. I do pee on the canvas bins of course, but somehow it is just not the same. Anyway, as those of you who read last week’s post are aware my human Maria’s friend Elizabeth was AWOL at some boring conference and also had the temerity to spend time with an Unauthorized Male (those into whose backsides I have not poked my generous proboscis). Well, we Wimseys are a relatively forgiving lot so as penance Elizabeth had to spend a mere four hours on Sunday being towed around Central Park by Yours Truly. I also extorted quite a few guilt cookies from her and periodically parked my extensive tush in her lap. No one crosses Wimsey and gets away unscathed—and Elizabeth has the bruises and sore feet to prove it.

Now whilst I was charging about the park punishing Elizabeth, I noticed quite a wide variety of humans stopping by to take my picture and to admire me or to give me a scratch. No matter what their differences they all seem to be enamored of me. Apparently humans have a long history of not getting along with each other very well, but I have now concluded that this is because they have not had a suitable Hound to unify them.

The United Nations of Wimsey

Secretary General Wimsey: We will all come to order. Let us recite the United Nations of Wimsey Pledge to begin the session:

Delegates: “We promise to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind and to worship and obey you in all things, Oh Great Hound.”

Secretary General Wimsey: Excellent. Now what is our first order of business?

Speaker: Well the English and the French are fighting again.

Secretary General Wimsey: This has been going on for 900 hundred years. What is it this time?

English delegate: The frogs won’t give us back Calais or the Aquitaine which are the rightful property of England, they are snooty to us in restaurants and they refuse to speak proper English.

French delegate: Well, these beefsteaks burned Joan of Arc, used sneaky tactics to slay the flower of French knighthood at Agincourt and have execrable taste in food.

Secretary General Wimsey: Well in point of fact, Calais and the Aquitaine --as well as the rest of France-- belong to me. My ancestors conquered it soon after arriving from the Holy Land during the Crusades. Also speaking English is vastly overrated—my humans do it all the time and they never have anything remotely intelligible to say (other than “Wimsey, would you like a cookie?”) I suggest we just all bay and the world would be a much more harmonious place, although a tad on the loud side. Anyway, sneaky tactics are a specialty of the Hound so I don’t see a problem with that (it is quite likely that Henry V’s chief military advisor was a Hound), the Joan of Arc thing was unfortunate I agree, but as to culinary matters, no food is appalling, even the stuff the English eat. And I can’t see that eating frogs and snails is much of a step up in any case. But I digress. I command both sides to shake hands, air kiss on each cheek and then you can rub my belly for two hours.

Speaker: Well now Secretary General Wimsey we have a dispute between the Canadians and the Americans.

Canadian delegate: People in the United States refuse to believe that we are a real country, aye. They belittle, demean and make fun of our Great Canadian Nation and they believe that we are merely a province of America that produces beer and hockey players.

American delegate: And?

Secretary General Wimsey: Gentleman, please. There is more that unites you in this dispute than divides you. For instance, do you think that I am an incredibly handsome hound?

American and Canadian delegates: Of course.

Secretary General Wimsey: See, you agree on the important things. So what does it matter if one of you resides in a big empty country with beer and hockey players and the other in a big crowded country without these estimable attributes. You both agree that I am handsome. Now you may shake hands and feed me some biscuits.

Speaker: We also have a dispute between Argentina and Brazil.

Argentinean delegate: The tango is the preeminent dance of South America!

Brazilian delegate: No! It is the samba!

Argentinean Delegate: We have troops massing on your border who will teach you otherwise!

Secretary General Wimsey: There will be no massing of troops anywhere, except those assembled to admire me! You are both in the wrong here—the preeminent dance everywhere in the world is the Wimsey Poop Dance. It is a beautiful thing to behold: first I chasse forward quickly, execute a 180 degree pivot turn and then chasse back. This combination is repeated several times. Then I execute three quick, technically demanding pivot turns (being careful to maintain my spot) et voila! I will now perform it for you and rather than fighting you can clean up.


And speaking of dancing, Maria found a TV show on FitTV called “Shimmy” that purports to be a belly dance workout. She DVR’d it for Elizabeth who belly dances herself and we had quite a time. Elizabeth was so carried away by the video that she put on a private show just for me (I am a pasha after all). Of course her dance left something to be desired as she was shimmying around in baggy jeans and an old sweater—hardly an ensemble in the spirit of the harem if you get my drift and it was not exactly the sensuous feast for the eyes that was intended. Somewhere some sultan is turning over in his grave. But I showed my appreciation for her dance by watching her intently and then standing up and putting my paws on her shoulder—although I am told that there are no belly dance parts for male bloodhounds—a shocking omission. (I do, however, know quite a few Labradors who can undulate their tails. I have never mastered this, but my tail is said to be in the shape of a Turkish scimitar, which I should think would count).

Anyway, the fact that an ever increasing proportion of my humans’ wardrobe consists of “hound clothes” (think big, baggy and stinky—and I say again,, the ladies wonder why they don’t get dates) confirms me in my belief that I am not merely a dog, but a Lifestyle. If Martha Stewart can peddle gracious upper middle class Westchester living to the masses, I, Wimsey, can promote the Hound Lifestyle to the denizens of New York City. I am contemplating a complete line of home furnishings and fashion which I will be at liberty to reveal in next week’s post. But for now, I have a busy agenda (Maria left a pile of shreddable mail on the table again and it has my name on it) and it is also time to pay our weekly visit to The Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art.

The Adoration of the Golden Calf (Nicolas Poussin, 1634, National Gallery, London) We return again to France to find this week’s artist in need of a Hound. This time we have on view a famous picture by one of the masters of French 17th century art, Nicolas Poussin. The son of a Norman farmer, Poussin’s work was improbably heavily influenced by stylistic elements of antiquity and this painting, although dealing with a biblical theme, smacks of a Greco-Roman bacchanal. The figures appear to be both active and static at the same time—all part of Poussin’s genius. However, it really doesn’t make much sense that people would choose to worship a calf—cows being not especially intelligent and only semi-cute—when there are so many more suitable animals available. See how the painting makes so much more sense if the worshippers are celebrating the presence of a Golden Hound in their midst! Isn’t he beautiful? And so appropriately placed on a pedestal —it could almost be today. The Adoration of the Golden Wimsey

Well, sadly it is time once again for me to leave you. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving and remember to give thanks for the presence of your Hound by sharing copious quantities of turkey and trimmings.

Until next time,

Wimsey, for whom my humans are eternally thankful (or should be),