February 29, 2008
Hello everyone. It’s me, Wimsey wishing you a Happy Leap Day from New York’s Upper West Side. Now I have my own interpretation of Leap day which my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth will experience when they attempt to walk me this evening. And I also wish them a lot of luck asking men to marry them, which, as I understand, is only supposed to be permissible on Leap Day. Well clearly whoever made that rule has never lived amongst the avid Husband Hunters of New York City where bagging the all elusive Husband is an enduring urban sport.--in fact the entire economy of the City would collapse without it as hunting wardrobes must be acquired in profusion (potential husbands being notoriously visual beasts, easily attracted by eye catching lures such as high hemlines and low necklines), watering holes must be visited and feeding stations must be lingered over (the prey being more compliant on a full stomach). And as is the case with most other hunting activities, the tracking and stalking tends to be a lot more fun and interesting than the actual bagging of the prey itself—you will never notice a run on slimy fish or gamey fowl at the supermarket, as the sport involved in tossing these items into a shopping cart is negligible. If husbands were available with such ease the female population of New York would very likely remain immune to husbandly charms.
NYC female shopper #1: I hear there’s a tall, craggy brunette in Aisle 2.
NYC female # 2: I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look at him when he goes on sale.
NYC female shopper #1: Well how about the investment banker next to him—he’s short and bald but with the extra money he brings you could buy lots of craggy brunettes.
NYC shopper #2: I’m not sure if I have the patience to sort through them all. How do we know really even know if they are locally produced—they could have been trucked in from the boroughs or even from the suburbs of Westchester. And how do we know if they are fresh—perhaps they’ve been sitting on the shelf too long.
NYC shopper #1: I think they sell them with 212 area codes and $1,000 per square foot apartments attached. And my mother taught me to check that the flesh is pink and the eyes unglazed. Or maybe that’s fish.
NYC shopper #1: I think we would do better downtown—I read about a new shop in Soho that specializes in artisanal blondes—all organically raised in picturesque hamlets in upstate New York.
All of which is why very few men are likely to be proposed to today here in New York.
Of course human males have nothing to fear from my ladies as human mating rituals do not commonly admit of the presence of a large and smelly Hound. Also my humans’ Hounding wardrobes tend to be less than optimal for attracting the males of the species (or at least those that don’t revel in baggy, lumpy and houndly smelling women). However, I am thinking about starting an online dating service to help my ladies out:
1. Does your Hound prefer to be:
a. scratched behind the ears
b. scratched on the belly
c. given a full shiatsu massage
2. Does your Hound sleep
a. at the foot of the bed
b. next to you on the pillow
c. draped on you as if you were the pillow
3. At mealtimes does your Hound
a. sit under the table
b. sit next to the table
c. sit on the table
4.When you talk on the phone, does your hound
b. attempt to join the conversation
c. eat the phone
5. Does your Hound prefer his walks to be:
a. 2 hours
b. 4 hours
c. 6 hours
6. Upon which does your Hound prefer to chew:
d. whatever is the most expensive
7. When not working to pay for your Hound’s upkeep do you like to:
a. read fine literature with your Hound’s head in your lap
b. engage in vigorous sporting activities with your Hound
c. prepare gourmet candlelit meals for your Hound
8. When accompanying you on a date does your Hound
a. fling drool on your date
b. smear mud on his clothes
c. monopolize the conversation
e. all of the above
Anyway, I am sure that a better use of Leap Day is to spend hours in the park with a leaping Hound. And I got to do plenty of leaping last Sunday during our four hour perambulation through a snowy Central Park (See Wimsey’s Winter Montage below). The snow is alas gone, but more may be in store for us tonight so I am keeping my jumbo sized paws crossed for this happy occurrence. Perhaps another four hour walk (and my humans wonder why they don’t have a life) will be in the offing on Sunday where crowds will gather to watch me disport myself in the snow and to take bets on how many minutes Elizabeth can remain on her feet.
Wimsey’s Winter Montage
Now during these lengthy walks people admire ME, talk about ME, take pictures of ME, pet ME. People enquire deeply into my origins, my mode of life, my preferences in all things, my grooming, my food, my apartment, my activities and anything and everything to do with ME. Maria and Elizabeth never even get asked their names; they are simply Wimsey’s humans and the only thing of interest to anyone about them is ME. And the ladies wonder why I am the way I am (“Wimsey is demanding a publicist and he is refusing to talk to people unless I bribe him with liver”).
Well the other exciting news this week is that I am to be shown again on March 9th which means that not only will I have to undergo a refresher course in trotting (yes, the dreaded trotting poles are about to make a re-appearance in Riverside Park) but There Will be Liver! (a much better title for an Academy Award Winning movie I think, and given the snore inducing nature of this year’s Oscars it probably would have made a much more entertaining movie.) The joys of liver cannot be overstated.
Wimsey’s Book of Love Poems
“Shall I Compare Thee to a Slab of Juicy Liver?”
“How Do I Love Liver. Let me Count the Ways”
“My Love is Like a Red Red Piece of Liver”
“She Walks in Beauty Like a Fabulous Piece of Liver”
“The Passionate Shepherd to His Liver”
“Ode to a Grecian Liver”
Anyway, before I pace off to celebrate Leap Day, it is time for our weekly visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art. Today we have a painting by the great Spanish painter Francisco Goya, who is considered one of the fathers of
Well I am now off to play with my Mastodon—one of the many gifts bestowed upon me for my impeccable Westminster behavior.
Until next time,