Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 59
March 21, 2008

Hello everyone. It’s me Wimsey coming to you from the very beautiful (and now increasingly spring-like) Upper West Side of Manhattan. I am pleased to report that we have had no new scandals this week—unless (TMI Alert) you count the fact that the new governor of New York State and his wife have decided to share their marital peccadilloes with the rest of us. Of course this new governor did have the good taste to choose the Upper West Side for his trysts; a choice which I am sure was greatly appreciated by those of us who live here, like my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth (“See! Downtown doesn’t have a monopoly on celebrities behaving badly! Of course downtown it’s hot, hip actors who are misbehaving, not middle aged politicians, but at least Wimsey wasn’t involved. At least as far as we know.”)

Now all this honesty makes me wonder what would happen if I were forced to engage in full disclosure and to apologize to Maria for some of my houndly foibles:

I am sorry I ate your cookbook collection

I am sorry I grew to be 125lbs and take up most of your apartment

I am sorry I try to kill you going down the stairs

I am sorry that your walls, clothing and possessions are coated with drool

I am truly sorry each and every time I try to dislocate your arm

I am sorry that I don’t seem able to understand obedience commands

I am sorry that you don’t have time for a life

I am sorry that Elizabeth has to wear green clothes all the time to make me look good (people just think she is excessively Irish)

I am sorry for engaging in high decibel baying when I don’t get what I want

I am sorry for imbuing your clothing and hair with my fine aroma

In short, I apologize for being a Hound

Now if this litany were to continue no one would ever want to live with a Hound (or to elect a politician) so some things are best left unsaid. Plus it would spoil the surprise of discovering the daily joys of life with a giant, stinky insubordinate Hound. And I am only too happy to oblige in the surprise area—like flinging open the bathroom door with a hearty “Hello! I am here” at the most inconvenient moments or waking my humans up from some delightful dream with a face full of wet wrinkles. Not to mention their surprise in discovering that their intimate apparel has acquired ventilation in unusual places.

But I digress. It’s been a mostly beautiful week here in Manhattan—spring flowers are already becoming available to be peed upon and the strong March breezes are bringing fascinating air currents bearing tidings of fine new animals to chase. (Can Grom Gelato season be far behind? My humans so enjoy buying me $5 cups of the stuff). Yes, spring is a magical time and I am a magical Hound. Not only do I possess the Magic Dewlap which instantly pushes all hound control equipment down to a useless position at the base of my neck but I also possess a magical odor that stops other canines in their tracks. Now I generously donate Elizabeth’s time on Saturdays to the ASPCA and I always insist that she wear jeans impregnated with this magic Wimsey scent (not that she has any jeans that lack this odoriferous enhancement) as protection (kind of like a denim amulet) and voila! Misbehaving or rambunctious animals are instantly brought under control as their noses are irresistibly drawn to hoover Elizabeth’s pants (I could sell these as Siren brand jeans). The result is that these beasts magically decide to behave as one whiff of Elizabeth convinces them that she is just an exceedingly weird, misshapen Large Hound Who Must Be Obeyed. But then it’s all “How come Wimsey’s magic pants don’t work on Wimsey?” Sad but true--- I am magically deaf to all things humans have to say, except when they say it with Liver. (Fortunately Maria does not need her cookbooks to learn how to boil it for me). I am thinking about a new Liver related business I can open:

Wimsey’s Bar and Grill

Cocktail Menu

Livertini: Delectable chilled, pureed liver, a sprinkling of vermouth served up or on the rocks with a twist (of liver)

Houndriver: Scrumptious blend of liver and fresh squeezed orange juice. Served with a slice of liver

Bloody Liver: Tangy blend of tomato juice and liver. Served with a stick of liver

Hound on the Beach: Sexy blend of liver, cranberry juice, grapefruit juice and peach schnapps

Mohoundo: Refreshing combination of muddled fresh mint leaves, liver and a splash of soda. Garnished with a sprig of liver

White Russian Hound: Farm fresh cream, liver, kahlua. Served up or over ice with shaved liver

Houndarita: A favorite with the Texas hounds: liver, triple sec, fresh lime juice and sugar. Served in a glass rimmed with liquefied liver

Hound Sun Rise: Invigorating mix of liver, orange juice and a splash of grenadine for a color

Cosmopolitan Hound: Sophisticated combination of liver, Cointreau and cranberry juice

Hounda Colada: Tropical delight made with liver, coconut milk and pineapple juice. Served with slivered liver

Menu

Grilled Liver
Sautéed Liver
Deep Fried Liver
Poached Liver
Barbecued Liver
Roasted Liver
Liver Stew
Broiled Liver
Carpaccio of Liver
Liver tartare
Liver Fingers
Fricassee of Liver
Liver stuffed with Liver Pate
Liver Sausage
Liver Burger
Chef’s Surprise: Liver of a Mystery Animal
Liver of the Day
Chef’s Special: Just Liver

Can you just imagine! There would be lines around the block. It could be like McLiver. Of course I just might start small—Wimsey’s Liver Pub has a certain ring to it.

Anyway, the other news of the week is that I have a new member of my entourage—a photography student from Germany who is photographing me as part of her final project. She is very talented and I am very beautiful so I am sure she will get an A. Tonight she is braving the rigors of Wimsey Bath Night in order to document my turkey laden ablutions (do they make waterproof camera lenses) and she is coming with us to my Easter Sunday show in West Orange New Jersey (I could be the first show dog in history to be defeated by a bunny). She will have many photographs of Wimsey Not Trotting, Wimsey Not Stacking, Wimsey Baying at the Other Dogs, Wimsey Rebelling Against his Halti, and Wimsey Flinging Drool on the other participants. And of course there will be a plethora of photos of Elizabeth, the Un-jolly Peeved Green Show Handler.

Anyway, before I go and prepare myself for Wimsey Bath Night it is time for us to visit the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art. I think it only fitting that since there has been so much trouble relating to female pulchritude that the visit include a famous Titian from the collection at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art: Venus and the Lute Player (Titian, 1865, Metropolitan Museum of Art). Now although Titian was a Renaissance artist and therefore inclined to engage in much classical inspired nudity, I think that the lady in the painting would create much less trouble if she displayed far fewer of her charms (especially as she looks as if she could stand to spend a few more hours in the gym and a few less at the table). See how much more tasteful the painting looks with the addition of a Hound covering her naughty bits. Now she is much less likely to incite the rampant appetites of New York’s passionate and romantic governors (who knew we were such a hot blooded state! It’s just another illustration of how one can’t judge a book by its cover---just like when people think I look mellow. And sweet. And intelligent. And well behaved.). Wimsey and the Lute Player.

Well that’s it for this week. Happy Easter Everyone!

Until next time,

Wimsey the Easter Hound

PS: Wednesday was my 4th birthday so here is my (Wimsey Green) birthday hat montage.