Entry # 64
April 25, 2008
Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey reporting to you from Manhattan’s beauteous Upper West Side where it is definitely Springtime for Wimsey. I have been invading Central Park quite a bit and as it is ablaze with odiferous flowering trees it is harder than ever for my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth to drag me out of my parkland paradise. I tow them in, they tow me out.
(here is a new Central Park friend, Hero, who is being fostered by Stray From the Heart)
But the fine spring air also brings with it an abundance of allergens (for humans, not for Hounds—we revel in the allergens as they herald the arrival of a fine new crop of peeable plants) and so as Maria was under the weather Elizabeth foolishly offered to look after me for a few nights (although apparently she was concerned that the disruption in my schedule would be unsettling to me until Maria sagely reminded her “This is Wimsey we’re talking about”). But what a few fantastic nights they were—with the exception of not being allowed to bring my new 45 inch orange squeaky Monkey -- it was a total blast. I reconnected with (stole) the squeaky whale that I eschewed during the Harrisburg dog shows (see post # 62) and made quite a racket with it before consuming the delicious cooked dinner that Elizabeth likes to prepare for me (“If Wimsey is full maybe he’ll refrain from sticking his nose into my food.” At least that’s the theory). And just as Elizabeth was about to toss her leftovers into the garbage she realized that she had a much greener (or ultimately browner) option at hand—namely, Me. I will eat anything
she eats, no matter how disgusting, just on general principle. The Wimsey motto is not “If you have it I want it” for nothing. My life is its pure embodiment and I live my creed every day--even to the point of trying to steal the dental floss out of Elizabeth’s mouth (Wimsey’s oral hygiene tip: flossing while sitting with the front end of a giant Hound in your lap is inimical to good dental hygiene).
But the best part of staying with Elizabeth is scaring the beejeesus out of her in the middle of the night with lots of sudden, startling, loud and unexpected noises including sharply flapping ears followed by a face full of wet Hound, which I achieve after a lengthy drink of water. (I like to check up on her to make sure she fully appreciates the gusto with which I enjoy the water thoughtfully provided in my elegant blue enamel Chopard water dish. And after all, the night is a perilous time and my frequent bed checks ensure that she will be sufficiently alive and well to cook me breakfast).
Ultimately my activities create a state of Wimsey induced sleep deprivation psychosis (perhaps I could license my techniques to the CIA). In this weakened state Elizabeth is unable to undertake any pesky non-Hound related work on her computer or have coherent phone conversations that don’t involve me. (“must walk hound, must feed hound, must scratch hound must sleep, must sleep”).
And speaking of pesky computer work, Elizabeth had at one time written an investor’s guide to genomics (genomics being another one of her fascinating interests, like the history of the Tudors—and not the sexy ones on Showtime either-- that have the male population of New York beating down her door) and she has been thinking about writing a new piece on this subject. But because human genes are so boring, it puts me in mind to write:
Wimsey’s Guide to Genomics
Now Hound genes are built from four principle chemical components: Houndadenine, Houndcytosine, Houndguanine and Houndthymine. Utilizing these four building blocks a whole assortment of delightful Hounds can be built, although many crucial genes remain substantially unchanged as they have proved essential over many generations of Hound evolution:
Crucial Hound Genes Conserved Through Evolution
Stink: This is a fundamental Hound gene which humans are always attempting to down regulate through the application of baths and products such as the Griminator and Crown Royale (the finishing spray, not the whisky, although a shot or two of that helps make bathing an unruly Hound a far more relaxing experience).
Drool: Another fundamental gene which is upregulated in the presence of interesting smells such those appertaining to food items, prey items, feminine sanitary items and all forms of casual human hygiene.
Imnotgonnadoit: This is a suite of highly versatile behavioral genes without which the Hound cannot function. Without this suite the Hound would be merely another of the common canine archetypes that one sees misguidedly doing helpful and useful things to assist humanity.
Pointyflathead: This gene ensures that the Hound cranium is of the appropriate size and shape to resist cluttering with too many confusing neurons.
NoseNoseNose: This gene is amplified to ensure the primacy of the scent organ, which is the Hound’s second favorite organ.
Stealit: The gene confers a heightened awareness of useful items that may legitimately be removed from their existing venues due to the momentary inattention of their previous owners.
Bedhog: Not to be confused with the homeobox hedgehog genes active in human development, this gene ensures that the Hound achieves a full and comfortable 18 hours of proper rest.
Cute: This is a gene essential to the survival of the Hound. Without it The Hound faces extinction.
But it is not only modern methods that can reveal our past present and futures. In ancient times (over a decade ago) people did not have gene analysis to tell them all about themselves (or the privilege of paying a mere thousand dollars for Navigenics to deliver the exciting news that they have a high probability of contracting an interesting but sadly incurable disease) so they had to rely on more traditional methods--- such as astrology. Now I have been quite impressed with the accuracy of the characteristics ascribed to my astrological sun sign, Pisces (although I am not too keen on having been born under the sign of a fish; I wonder why there is no astrological sign of the Hound—probably too many people would want to be born under it and those not lucky enough to do so would be subject to massive discrimination). But alas I have nonetheless been assigned to the fish and according to the sages of yore (and the Internet) I am:
Shy (I never fling drool until after the first pet).
Romantic: (I serenaded my gorgeous Phoebe bloodhound whilst we were in the show ring
together and spent the rest of the time with my nose romantically tucked up her bum).
Trustworthy: (I can always be counted on to disrupt any important human activity; consistency is my middle name).
Aloof: (I like to stand about looking majestic and dignified whilst humans coo, squeal and fawn over me).
Dreamy: (I spend 18 hour a day dreaming about beautiful girl bloodhounds, inattentive squirrels and long, lingering pees in Central Park).
Creative: (I constantly find new and imaginative places to poop where it can’t be scooped).
Understanding: (I comfort my humans after they have had a bad day by allowing them to engage in the soothing scratching of my undersides).
Unrealistic: (I constantly expect my humans to give up 100% of their lives for me instead of the 99% they currently give).
Impractical: (There must be a way for a 125lb Hound to fit onto the lap of a 125lb human).
Musical: (I am famous for my singing, especially early in the morning and in the show ring).
Also there are many famous Pisces:
Sidney Poitier (We both have a handsome, commanding presence)
Anais Nin (I too am a fine writer)
George Harrison (He sings; I bay. People love us both)
Steve Jobs (He creates computers, I eat computers ((also i-Pods))
Johnny Cash (I too wear a lot of black)
Elizabeth Taylor (We are both renown for our beauty)
Bernadette Peters (We both are dog loving redheads)
Shaquille O’Neal (I too am tall and like to toss a ball around)
Chuck Norris (It’s a tossup which of us can inflict more physical pain)
Billy Crystal (We both make people laugh)
Bernardo Bertolucci (I like butter too)
So perhaps it is not too bad being a Pisces—although it might have been nice to have been born under the sign of a more eatable animal (is sirloin steak an astrological sign?)
Anyway, after a two week hiatus it is time for us again to resume our visits to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art. This week in honor of all the domestic care that has been lavished upon me we travel to the Netherlands to look at a very famous painting by Dutch baroque painter Johannes Vermeer (The Milkmaid, 1658, Johannes Vermeer, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam). Not much is known about Vermeer—he spent his entire life in Delft and died at the young age of 43—to his wife he left 11 children and to posterity some of the finest masterpieces of 17th century Dutch art. Vermeer was fond of painting interior domestic scenes utilizing glowing, luminescent colors. And what a wonderful scene this is—the contrasting blues and yellows bathed in a soft northern light. But there is a table with food upon it and the milkmaid is pouring milk from a jug—who is this for? You can see how this key omission is instantly solved by the insertion of a beautiful and luminescent hound who gazes lovingly at the woman who is about to provide such bounty for his tender stomach. The Wimsey Maid.
Well, it is time for another walk in Central Park where I will exercise my Piscean sensitivity to appreciate Spring’s flora and fauna and to help them grow using Elizabeth’s leftovers.
Until next time,
Wimsey, a true lily (or tulip) of the field
Friday, April 25, 2008
Entry # 64
Posted by Wimsey at 10:21 PM
Friday, April 18, 2008
Entry # 63
April 18, 2008
Hello Everyone! It’s me Wimsey back once again in Hometown USA-- the magnificent Upper West Side of Manhattan. Last week I was forced to blog from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania as my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth had carted me off for a long weekend to attend the Eastern Regional Bloodhound Specialty and to be shown in three dog shows. Now some of you might not believe that actual Manhattan dwelling humans accompanied by a staunch New York Hound such as myself actually had the courage to leave the island of Manhattan, which is kind of reverse “Lost”—no one wants to leave this island. Ever. (The rest of the country being populated by colorfully dressed natives who don’t travel by subway, don’t pay exorbitant prices for non-exorbitant living spaces and don’t enroll their infants in French and art appreciation classes). And Manhattan also has its version of “the others” but we call these “people who live in the outer boroughs” and although we don’t have flesh eating monsters and polar bears roaming free, you can see amazing sights here—like a large baying Hound careening down the street in hot pursuit of a walk in Central Park (The New York Times’ Metropolitan Diary reported this week that a man in a business suit was seen strolling down the street with a latte in one hand and a live chicken tucked under the other arm. No one gave him second look. But of course everyone gives me a second look because I am a lot louder, a lot more beautiful and much more entertaining than any chicken. Also a chicken won’t steal your water bottle, cover you with slime or poke you in the backside).
Personally I am delighted to be back home—we are having wonderful spring weather and Central Park is a veritable cornucopia of spring flowers. I have already peed on many excellent species of flowering plant and viewed the cherry blossoms in full bloom—unfortunately I can’t pee on these until the trees shed their petals—a joyous annual event that I await with great anticipation. I am sure the samurai, who revered the cherry tree, would approve of them making the ultimate sacrifice for my peeing pleasure.
But I did enjoy Harrisburg and tried mightily to live up to my reputation as America’s Worst Behaved Show Dog—at Sunday’s show things seemed to be going better (or so Elizabeth my handler thought) until I noticed my good friend Brady Bloodhound ringside. Well of course I had to call out to him to come liberate me from this ridiculous ring so we could play. Fortunately we had a very nice judge who seemed to appreciate my fine voice if not my fine galloping and pacing around the ring. But I have to say that even though I pride myself on being the worst behaved animal, bloodhounds as a group do not display any notable degree of tractability in the show ring. Now whereas I like to gallop or pace or trop (my signature combo of the pace and the trot) and do everything except trot properly, I remain in awe of the Hound who elected to sit down in the middle of his down and back. It was a master stoke! And there were Hounds who fancied a belly rub instead of a stack and those who believed that the judge wanted to play with them when he tried to examine them. I have filed all these away in my “to do” list should my humans be brave enough to show me again.
And of course it was wonderful to see so many Hounds dragging their humans around the fantastically odiferous field in the back of the hotel, nose to the ground, tail up and straining their flexies for all they are worth (one estimable Hound even pulled his human over). I also observed that many of the humans associated with these Hounds were mysteriously trim. I imagine it was due to the Hound Diet.
Wimsey’s Ultra-Slim Fitness and Diet Plan
5:30am: Vigorous 2 hour walk (preferably in an area infested with fast moving squirrels) with one large hound, one long lead and no hound restraining equipment.
7:30 am: Shower off dirt (or mud depending on the weather), disinfect and bandage cuts, apply Arnica to the bruises.
Breakfast: Half grapefruit, scrambled eggs, bacon (optional potatoes), one slice wheat toast (no butter): Feed the scrambled eggs and bacon and optional potatoes to your Hound. You may consume the grapefruit (we generally don’t like grapefruit) and the piece of dry toast.
Two hour walk in hilly area—the uphill tow develops the quadriceps and the combination of gravity, a charging hound and a healthy sense of self preservation will enable you to increase your foot speed quite amazingly on the downhill.
Large roast beef sandwich au jus, French fries, cheesecake and an apple: feed the roast beef, fries and cheesecake to your Hound (he needs to replenish the calories he burned exercising you). You may eat the apple (hounds will eat apples but they usually prefer roast beef).
Leisurely two hour sunset tow with your Hound to build up an appetite (his) preferably in an area redolent with the smelly trails of small juicy mammals.
Half roast chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, salad (no dressing), vanilla ice cream: Feed the chicken, mashed potatoes and ice cream to your Hound—if you are exceptionally hungry you may reserve a drumstick for yourself and you are free to consume the steamed broccoli and salad.
Quick mile sprint with your Hound to relax before bed time followed by warm milk and shortbread cookies for your Hound and unsweetened chamomile tea for you.
So you see, The President doesn’t need a Council on Physical Fitness, he needs a President’s Council of Hounds.
But Harrisburg was not without its trauma for my humans. They discovered that there was no Starbucks in proximity to the hotel which constituted a crisis akin to there being no black clothing. Also, although Elizabeth was delighted with the bargain basement $4 gin and tonics our suburban locale mandated that she was unable to actually consume any because she was in charge of driving our vehicle The Wimsey (Jeep) Commander. And although we did not actually get lost thanks to our new GPS, Elizabeth had to pump gas twice. The first time she did manage to remember on which side of the car the gas tank was located but she required the assistance of a mechanic to twist off the gas cap; the second time she nearly put diesel fuel in the car.
Well because it has been a somewhat quiet week here in the big city (apart from the visit of the Pope whose views on Hounds are unknown but as he wears white he should exercise a considerable degree of caution upon meeting any ((unless he can have clothes made in white vinyl)). I have decided to include a Monster Montage of Photos from the Great Harrisburg Adventure (the only adventure my humans are likely to have as I don’t permit them to go on vacation without me).
WIMSEY'S MONSTER HARRISBURG MONTAGE
Now first we begin in New York City with Wimsey Bath Night. This is a futile activity whereby I get fed an enormous amount of turkey while my humans attempt to obliterate my fine Hound fragrance. This is followed by a four-handed towel massage (I object to hair dryers).
There is a fine view of a nice smelly field right outside my window.
And here I am majestically enjoying the smelly field.
But all too soon it was time to go to the dog show at the Pennsylvania Farm Center. I seem eager to arrive because I was hoping the sign said "Sheep, cows and horses this way!"
Here is a half of a ring of bloodhounds! I am on the other side of the ring misbehaving too much to be photographed.
But when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping (for me of course).
And the results of the expedition? A 45 inch squeaky orange monkey stick! I can't think of a more deserving Hound.
But all too soon it was time to go home. Fortunately this involved extensive riding in the Wimsey Commander.
Here I am about to fall asleep.
A nap is a fine way to end the weekend (I am dreaming about sitting down during my down and back). The humans are up front discussing how they would like to kill me, but of course I am far too cute and they love me far too much. And life would be unbearably tedious and boring without me. Game, set and match: Hound
Until next time,
Posted by Wimsey at 10:09 AM
Friday, April 11, 2008
Entry # 62
April 11, 2008
MOBILE BLOGGING ALERT! Hello everyone, Wimsey here and for once I am not coming to you from the Upper West Side of Manhattan but from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Harrisburg is the state capital of Pennsylvania and at the time of this writing, it is still blissfully free of philandering governors thus enabling me to focus my full attention on the Eastern Regional Bloodhound specialty which is taking place at the Pennsylvania Farm Show Center. Now for a Manhattan Hound to be tooling around a farm center anywhere is pretty cool---the place reeks of fine aromas both equine and ruminant and whereas these smells are no match for the beauty of the scent of fresh Hound they are pretty compelling. And my human Maria and her friend (and my show handler) Elizabeth are all “Hey it doesn’t smell like Wimsey around here!” to which I would add, yet.
But I am getting a bit ahead of myself here. First we actually had to get to Pennsylvania and as usual there was plenty of departure drama to go around. This time the car (well, really a small SUV) that my uncle Ray generously lends to Maria was having battery problems just as we were about to leave and rather than risk being stranded on some alien highway with an impatient Hound, the ladies decided to rent. And being modest by nature, the ladies reserved a compact car from one of the many brave rental companies that are optimistic enough to rent cars to non-car savvy New Yorkers (“Is the one on the left the gas or the brake?) But when Maria and Elizabeth got to the garage they were told that they would be getting a “slightly larger” automobile---It was a JEEP COMMANDER! Now let me tell you as a finely endowed intact male bloodhound this is definitely the kind of vehicle one wants to be associated with—it’s like a penis on wheels! Riding around in it almost makes me believe that I don’t have a sissy name like Wimsey and that I don’t smell like finishing spray instead of Hound. And of course Elizabeth drives it like she’s a graduate of The Erwin Rommel School of Automotive Arts because she is taking no chances with this behemoth of a vehicle---she has the only Jeep with a 20 foot turning radius-- her driving antics are now a rich source of entertainment for the denizens of three states. Even the car’s name is appropriate—The Commander—because that is my primary function in life—--that and sticking my nose into people’s food and fannies. Anyway, I bet all those snooty bloodhound babes who specialize in ignoring me will change their tune when I cruise (well, lumber—Elizabeth is doing the driving) up in their midst. It is a well known fact that lady bloodhounds appreciate a spacious set of wheels in which to slobber (“Does this mean we will have to be driving Wimsey on dates during the show?”) But nothing in life is perfect (except a Hound) and I will say that it is a disappointment that the car is not in my trademark Wimsey Green to set off my rich red hue. Also the car is so big that my back seat zip line harness actually functions the way it was meant to and prevents me from my frequent forays to the front (of course now that Elizabeth has purchased a GPS—whose voice always seems to scare the ladies when it suddenly issues a command, which seems to be the whole point of having it—my supervision is much less needed). And finally, the seats are rather high up, so rather than strain myself I prefer to wait until Elizabeth comes around the side to hoist my back end--- this usually entails some pleasant body contact and tummy scratching and rolled eyes from Maria who sometimes feels that I am a bit spoiled. And if I cared what humans think I might be insulted. But the funny thing about this huge car (“Do we pay a car toll or a truck toll?”) is that after the ladies were finished loading all their gear there was still no place for them to sit.
Anyway, so we finally get to the Holiday Inn in Mechanicsburg (where well regulated bloodhounds were everywhere, trotting hither and yon with their humans! It was a beautiful sight although I could have wished to see a bit more spirited towing and baying, but then we New Yorkers are a loud and fast moving lot) and I am at last allowed to inspect the adjoining rooms that have been reserved for us and just as Elizabeth was beginning to conduct an extensive debate on the relative merits of sleeping on either of the two beds (“there are no trivial decisions, only trivial minds”), I hopped up on the one nearest the bathroom. (not wanting her to be tormented by choice I also claimed half of her bed during the night just to make sure she wasn’t obsessing about which side of the bed to sleep on. The choice thus became obvious—the side without the large snoring Hound.)
And then of course there was the show itself. Now before we left Elizabeth received a consoling email from a friend (and former Hound owner—she now owns a sensible Golden Retriever, by the way) suggesting that with over 60 bloodhounds in attendance perhaps I might not actually be the worst behaved one. Now I have to say that whilst there were several imperfectly behaving Hounds at the show they lacked any sticking power—my genius is the sheer duration of effect, so while other Hounds may from time to time exhibit certain episodic lapses I can be relied upon to be sustainably horrible. I can achieve this time after time (except occasionally when I like to encourage my humans by being inexplicably well behaved; we in the behavior modification business refer to this as random reinforcement). But the day actually began well—I enjoyed hearing the national anthem that always kicks off these events and even sang a brief accompaniment to the concluding bars.
Now there had been some debate as to which Wimsey would show up—the baying maniac or the tail tucking “I refuse to show” one. But today I managed to operate in hybrid mode: the baying maniac who won’t show!. First off, I was surrounded by all of these fantastic and beautiful Hounds with whom I wanted to play but was cruelly prevented. Next, I was expected to wait around patiently for three hours until the best of breed class began. Well I protested these conditions most persistently, vociferously and at a pretty high decibel level too... So incensed was I that I would not be bought off with liver, bully sticks or squeaky whales. I would be heard! And then I noticed that Elizabeth was looking a bit pudgy so I decided that wrestling me before during and after my time in the ring would help her burn off a few excess calories. In the ring there is nothing quite as aerobic as gaiting a galloping Hound or wrestling with the legs of a non-stacking one or outside the ring restraining a tugging, towing and lunging Hound with the aid of nothing more powerful than a nylon slip collar and brute force. Anyway, by the time it was all done she was soaked! Another job well done if I do so say myself. No expensive gym memberships for my humans!
Now the wonderful thing about my humans is that they have such short memories—some would call this feeble minded but I prefer to think of them as merely pleasantly simple. So what did my humans do after I racked up more points in the America’s Worst Behaved Show Dog Competition? The ladies elected to drown their sorrows in shopping. But it’s a dog show so all the shopping has a tendency to be for me. Well, I hit the jackpot. It was decided that I was in urgent need of a 45 inch orange squeaky stuffed monkey. Now to be fair, the first idea was to buy the monkey as a present for another dog blogger, our super sized buddy Mango the Mastiff (http://mangosgreatadventures.blogspot.com) because every time Elizabeth saw a mastiff she wanted to know if they knew Mango. But it was eventually decided that sending a 45 inch stuffed squeaky monkey to Massachusetts required a degree of logistical planning that was beyond their ken so they hit on the brilliant idea of buying it for me. (“Maybe Wimsey will behave better if he has a 45 inch orange squeaky monkey.”) But for all those jumbo beasts out there who also feel the lack of a noisy monkey, it comes from http://www.greatchinaintl.com/.
Anyway, this week we are not going to visit the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art because I need all my energy for tomorrow’s ring escapades. But to all of those out there who are considering showing their Hound, Elizabeth has a word of advice. “Don’t”
Until next time,
Wimsey, Undefeated Champion Worst Behaved Showdog
P.S.: My humans want to change my show name to Ch. Ewine’s Ramsey Creek’s “we’re gonna kill him” Wimsey
Posted by Wimsey at 7:31 PM
Friday, April 4, 2008
Entry # 61
April 4, 2008
Hello Everyone. Wimsey here coming to you from the moist streets of Manhattan. April showers may bring May flowers but they also bring an exceptionally stinky bloodhound-- much to the olfactory delight of my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth. Now no amount of washing, scrubbing, toweling and Wimsey Bath Nights can totally eradicate my delicious scent (or not for long, anyway). I do admit that right after a bath I smell like The Griminator (my aptly named shampoo) but the natural ascendancy of my houndly odor quickly reasserts itself. As an example, I spent last weekend with Elizabeth whilst Maria was out of town and within minutes her previously pristine apartment smelled like Guess Who? So it was all “Wimsey is like those air fresheners things that you plug into an outlet and they quickly push scent into a room, except he doesn’t use electricity and he doesn’t smell like spring flowers. (More like the stuff used to grow spring flowers).”
Anyway, living with Elizabeth is always lots of fun— her apartment has a view over Riverside Park enabling me to keep tabs on the various goings on and she is also amusingly easy to disturb at night (earplugs and pillows over the head are no match for me). Now I really hate it when she wastes all that precious time sleeping when she could be entertaining me, so I am the Bloodhound That Goes Bump (and crunch) in the night:
Wimsey’s Guide to Fun Nocturnal Activities
The Classic: High Decibel Snoring
The loose folds of my bloodhound skin add an extra auditory dimension to this time honored activity (Wimsey’s tip: timing is very important to the success of the endeavor—snore only when a human is on the verge of or has just fallen asleep).
The Artistic: Bedding Rearrangement
Now this might not sound very loud, but Elizabeth considerately provides a large fluffy duvet next to her bed for me to sleep on and which from time to time requires some loud digging into, shoving at and snorting upon in order to bring it up to the Wimsey comfort standard. I am often referred to as the Picasso of the Duvet-- creating endlessly intriguing duvet shapes and conformations. (Wimsey’s tip: never use your mouth to rearrange bedding—it is too quick and doesn’t make enough noise; I find large paws with long nails work best).
The Midnight (or later) Snack
One gets so peckish in the middle of the night, so at some point it’s time to hit the bowl of kibble that has been thoughtfully provided for me. Now sadly this kibble is not actually next to the bed, but given the compact nature of New York City apartments one can create quite a stir even in the kitchen. Kibble crunching can create astonishing volume. (Wimsey’s tip: carrying some of this kibble in one’s skin folds and depositing it on the bed enhances the sleeping experience of the human).
The Water Works
What is a snack without a drink? Now here I really excel, both with respect to sound production and duration—listening to a bloodhound drink a large bowl of water at a leisurely pace on an otherwise quiet night (why hurry, the night is young) can be a soundsational experience. (Wimsey’s tip: it is important to stay well hydrated throughout the night, so frequent water bowl forays are encouraged; also sharing the experience by sticking your wet and dripping muzzle into your human’s face reflects well on the generosity of the hound).
The Flapping Ears
Now here hounds have a huge advantage in the production of sound. The noise made by our long and luxurious ears whacking against our heads can result in an impressive decibel count. This head shaking also has the advantage of distributing any unused kibble, drool and water into sleep defeating locations.
Miscellaneous Sound Effects
Scratching with loud grunts of pleasure, yawning and using the powerful bloodhound nose to create an array of exciting snorts and snuffles can be a surefire way to insure that your human does not dessert you for the charms of Morpheus. (Wimsey’s tip: once your human is awake it is extremely important that you assume a peaceful ((and noiseless)) sleep posture).
The Wake Up Call
My personal favorite. Fortunately Elizabeth’s apartment is very light so I am instantly alerted to the imminent arrival of dawn—that magical time of the morning when any self respecting bloodhound ought to be out and about acquainting oneself with the scent events of the night before and putting the product of nocturnal visits to the water bowl to the use nature intended.
Anyway, I had a wonderful time at Elizabeth’s and her pleasing raccoon-like appearance at the end of the weekend was much admired. Of course she did start calling Maria pretty early on Sunday afternoon for updates on exactly when she would return, but I expect that was because she wanted adequate time to prepare herself for my sad departure. But staying with Elizabeth did give me an idea for a new line of Wimsey personal care products:
Wimsey’s Line of Personal Care Products
Too many glamorous nights spent crunching the kibble with your Hound? Wimsey’s Kabuki under eye concealer is guaranteed to eradicate even the darkest circles!
Can’t put a comb through your hair because of glutinous gobs of drool? Never fear, Wimsey’ drool detangler is your new best friend!
Are people refusing to sit next to you in even the most crowded subway? Are strange dogs following you home at night? Wimsey’s “Un-Hound Me” cologne is the scent-sible solution!
Are houndly secretions getting your make-up down (and off)? Then Wimsey’s Water Proof makeup is for you (guaranteed against drool and saliva; anything else, you’re on your own).
Worried that your suave, continental French kissing hound could be turning your mouth into a Petrie dish? Try Wimsey’s disinfecting toothpaste for a whiter, less infectious smile.
Well the only other exciting event this week is that I once again got to go to the vet—this time to have a nice expensive ear cleaning and gunk culturing. Frankly I am a veterinarian’s dream—there should be a statute of me at all major vet schools
WIMSEY: OUR HERO
Isn’t this what human doctors become dermatologists for? No wonder the vet staff is always so pleased to see me. Of course my humans think they will save lots of money because the water fountains in Central Park are open again relieving them of the necessity of buying me $2 bottles of spring water. However they have neglected to factor in that Grom gelato season is about to begin and there are $5 cups of vanilla gelato with my name on them! But spending money on me is all part of the process of self-development that enhances the spiritual growth of my humans.
The Zen of the Hound: Wimsey’s Seven Steps to Wisdom
Step One: Denial: My hound loves me; He wants to please me
Step Two: Anger: Why doesn’t my Hound love me and want to please me!
Step Three: Acceptance: OK, my Hound loves himself and wants to please himself, but he is very cute.
Step Four: Deflection of Anger: Yes, I am sorry my Hound flung drool in your face, but it is very good for the complexion.
Step Five: Enjoyment: OK Look the Hound (stole my dinner, shredded my underwear, ate the couch, dislocated my arm, shoved me off the bed, slimed the walls, etc); Isn’t he cute!
Step 6: Affirmation: I am a wonderful person and I have a wonderful Hound.
Step 7: Sharing: I think you need a Hound.
Well anyway, there will be lots of excitement next week when I will be coming to you not from my habitual haunts here in Manhattan but from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. (Very) early on Friday morning we are all heading out to a long weekend where I will be shown (three times!!!) and we will attend the Eastern Regional Bloodhound Specialty. This is kind of like a party for all the east coast bloodhounds and their humans and in addition to smelling my beloved Phoebe’s bottom (see last week’s post for her picture) again I am looking forward to making many new friends and to accumulating more points in the “America’s Worst Behaved Showdog”competition. (I think this could be a real winner as a reality TV series. Simon Cowl would really like me). So this week it will be all liver boiling and cavaletti-ing and Wimsey bath night-ing (with another visit from the German photography student who has become addicted to photographing me in the tub). And Elizabeth is feverishly researching GPS devices in the hopes of avoiding the creation of yet another personal episode of “Lost.” Of course Elizabeth listens to the GPS in the car about as much as I listen to her in the show ring, so I think she should save her money for my vet bills. Who knows, I might even acquire an expensive ear mite in Pennsylvania.
And now for our weekly visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art. Since I will be attending a grand event next week, such things have been much on my mind and I think it only fitting that we visit the Louvre to see Jacques-Louis David’s masterpiece The Coronation of Napoleon (Jacques-Louis David, 1806, Musee du Louvre, Paris). Now this painting commemorates Napoleon crowning himself and Josephine Emperor and Empress in Notre Dame Cathedral. But it is a little known historical fact that Napoleon was much more attached to his Hound than he was to his wife (an all too common phenomenon) so it makes much more sense that Napoleon would bestow the great honor on his beloved great hound. The Coronation of Wimsey.
Well now I am off to rest up for my busy week of training and keeping the ladies from having a mental meltdown over the prospect of crossing two state lines.
Until next time,
Posted by Wimsey at 5:08 PM