Friday, July 25, 2008

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 77
July 25, 2008

Hello Everyone. Wimsey here coming to you from the sticky, stinky precincts of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the summer weather is putting quite a crimp in my usual activities. Basically I still try to run around like a maniac but then I get hot and flop down in the grass—a heaping mound of panting hound-- much to the dismay of my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth (“Look! Wimsey’s overheated! Quick run and fetch the cool water for his brow whilst I fan him in this grassy patch of shade!). Usually I head for a mud puddle but my humans tend to discourage this, although it is unclear how much dirtier actual mud would make me (I sense the impending arrival of a Wimsey Bath Night). Anyway, then we all sit in the grass for quite a delightful interval which extends my park time very pleasurably. I think I will flop down in the snow this winter too.

And then there is Maria’s persistent belief that I don’t like all the thunderstorms that accompany the newly tropicalized Big Apple (The Baked Apple?)--merely because I climb into bed with her when these storms occur. As a conscientious owner of a human I can do no less than insure her comfort during unpleasant weather--never let it be said that I don’t do anything unselfish for my humans. But I do come in for a lot of extra indulgence (is this really possible?) when thunderstorms strike. This week Maria went out for one of her rare social forays (Hounds and active social lives are antithetical constructs) when thunderstorms were threatened. Consequently, I was whisked away by Elizabeth for my after work walk (their work, not mine—leisure being much more conducive to my talents) and fed a lovely cooked meal (too bad Elizabeth’s culinary skills don’t extend to the preparation of human meals—my food is always better than hers) and kept company lest the impending storm alarm me.

But storms or no, I do love visiting with Elizabeth, especially us cooking together in her kitchen. I am a most helpful and considerate sous chef-- carefully inspecting all food items, checking the refrigerator temperature by sticking my head inside and watching all of her preparations with the most flattering attention. And I am sure she greatly appreciates the companionship that only a 125 lb. Hound in a cozy New York City kitchen can provide. But of course in addition to the great food Elizabeth fixes for me, I also love Newspaper Reading Time which I turn into Newspaper Shredding Time. Nothing gets me quite as excited as the sight of Elizabeth heading towards the couch with a stack of the day’s newspapers! We are especially fond of The Wall Street Journal—she because of its excellent journalistic qualities and me because of its excellent shredding qualities. And it shreds equally well with both mouth and claw (owing to my aversion to the nail clippers my paws greatly resemble bear claws which turn out to be excellent tools for the shredding of all manner of materials and exceedingly useful when my mouth is otherwise occupied). It makes me think I would make an excellent newspaper publisher:

Wimsey’s Hound Street Journal

Economics: The Hound and the money supply: Does more of one necessarily lead to less of the other?

Financial Outlook: Inflation Alert: Is a larger Hound necessarily a better Hound? Or does he just consume more of your scarce resources?

Personal Finance: 10 tips for cutting back on your lifestyle so as to have more money to spend on your Hound.

National Affairs: Is your Hound smarter than a politician? According to a new Harvard Medical School Study-- which shocked no one except the politicians-- the answer is yes. Hounds actually have more neurons. They’re also more popular, better looking, never lie and always make good on their promises whether you want them to or not.

Science and Technology: General Motors will introduce new vehicle powered by Hound generated natural gas, an abundant, renewable biofuel.

International Affairs:
How to say “I have a magnificent Hound” in ten languages and “I am sorry my Hound poked you in the crotch” in thirty.

Government: Congress decides it doesn’t actually matter who you vote for, Hounds rule regardless.

Financial Markets: Is your dog a Bull (stubborn) or a Bear (destructive) or a Hound (both).

Travel: Don’t! (or at least not without your Hound)

Obituaries: Time. Money. Sleep. Personal Possessions. Cleanliness. Furniture. Gardens. Contents of the refrigerator. Contents of the garbage bin. Contents of the dinner plate. Your life.

Entertainment: our entertainment editor is on vacation at an undisclosed location too glamorous to name. Please select one from column A and one from column B note: (multiple answers possible):

Column A

Amy Winehouse
Britney Spears
Jennifer Aniston
Miley Cyrus
The Olsen Twins
Kirsti Alley
Paris Hilton

Column B

Is in rehab
Needs to be in rehab
Belongs to a cult
Starting a cult
Flashed an intimate body part in public
Flashed an intimate body part on the Internet
Flashes intimate body parts everywhere
Collects children
Collects more children
Pines for ex-husband
Pines for other people’s husbands
Is perfect

Anyway, I always have a very enjoyable time with Elizabeth, although lately she has been walking me on the Dreaded Halti (which I defeat by rolling around in the grass until it slips off of my muzzle) in the hopes of giving her shoulder time to heal (I can’t imagine how she hurt her shoulder). But as I always say, “No Pain. No Hound.”

Well it has also been a busy week around here in my in-box. I have been nominated for an Arte y Pico award (see the icon) and tagged (, and am supposed to nominate five other bloggers-- but everyone seems to have already been nominated and in any case I think that all dogs who blog deserve to be given awards all the time for all the work we put into our craft and for putting up with all the cameras that are stuck in our faces all the time (personally I like to assume an endearing pose and then whip around at the last minute so that my humans get a fine photo of the Wimsey posterior—between all the messing with my anal glands, checking my poop, defending my testicles and watching me groom my genitals, it’s where all the action is anyway, so why not immortalize it photographically?)

Now for my tag, I am supposed to answer the following questions, so although I never obey humans, I will obey this request from a fellow canine:

What is your name? Wimsey
If you could change your name, what would it be? Rambo (I think I deserve a much more macho name than Wimsey)
What is your pet’s name (it can be a webkinz or a real pet)? Maria
If you could change your pet’s name what would it be? Maria Slave of Wimsey
What is your brother or sister’s name? I am currently an only dog, but maybe Elizabeth counts since I pester her so much.
If you could change their name, what would it be? Elizabeth Also Slave of Wimsey

Hope that takes care of it and now we can beetle over to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art for our weekly visit. Today I am in a very philosophical mood and inclined to look to the ancients as a source of wisdom. Rembrandt did this too, especially when a rich Sicilian patron offered him beaucoup de ducats to paint a philosopher. He chose Aristotle. Aristotle With A Bust of Homer (Rembrandt, 1653, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). Rembrandt chose to contrast two ways of being a genius—Aristotle in the sphere of philosophy and science and Homer in the sphere of literature. Aristotle is painted in the rich attire so well suited to Rembrandt’s gold tones and is wearing the expensive bit of bling given to him to his most famous pupil, Alexander the Great. Sadly, Aristotle was not able to influence Alexander enough to prevent him from roaming around conquering the world, and so we see Aristotle contemplating whether Homer is ultimately the more successful genius. However, I think that Aristotle would do better to contemplate a genius of a canine kind and one who never fails to influence (some say control) the actions of those around him—a magnificent Hound! See how noble and wise the sagacious Hound looks as Aristotle touches him on his flat and pointy head. Aristotle now recognizes that he is in the presence of true genius and gazes at the Hound with unbounded admiration, perhaps ruing just a little that he had not the Hound’s skill when it came to reining in young Greek dictators. Aristotle with a Bust of Wimsey.

Well I am off to bask in my air conditioned splendor until my next expedition into the steamy jungle of New York City. Perhaps I will see the wild turkey that is living in Central Park, whom I greatly admire and would like to get to know much better.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Hot Hound in the City


Booker the Treeing Walker said...

RAMBO! Excellent ... it sounds ... uhhhhhhh LARGE! At any rate, how could anyone but a halti over your NOSE. You have my complete empathy ...

Kate said...

Your blog is hysterical and very creative. Check out mine if you want at

Keep up the good work!