Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 105
February 6, 2009

Hello everyone. Wimsey here, coming to you from the sunny and tropical climes of Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Only kidding—we are freezing our fannies off out here in the Big Apple (the Frozen Apple?) but all this frisky-making weather is pleasing me enormously. People keep asking my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth if I am a puppy as they gaze in wonder at my prodigious displays of ice zoomies. “No,” they reply “he’s just an idiot.” But as far as being an idiot goes, I am not the one meeting up every evening and asking “what’s the poop” and actually meaning it, so I will brook no more talk about my idiocy.

Well this has been an exciting week—it started off with a bang, or should I say a bay when I was accompanied on my Sunday marathon tour of Central Park by Ruthie, a lovely little Southern hound mix that Elizabeth met when she was assisting in a therapy dog training class. Isn’t she pretty? And of course I did my usual meet and greet of park goers. One day I aspire to collect a seriously large group of assorted Hounds and invade Central Park in a spectacular fashion. I can just see the headline in the Times: Hounds Invade Central Park: State of Emergency Declared as Charmed Residents Relinquish All Possessions.

But for now, Ruthie will do. And it is ironic that Elizabeth met Ruthie in dog training class since as far as being a dog trainer, Elizabeth has apparently gone over to The Dark Side. She has been encouraging some of my more amusing but naughty behaviors—especially those that annoy Maria—for her own entertainment. She thinks that naughty dogs are funny (Hounds being of course the most hilarious group) but that is because she doesn’t have to live with one. So in addition to teaching me to treat the human abdomen like a punching bag in the incessant search for cookies and to dart in front of Maria by walking sideways like a crab, thereby tripping her, Elizabeth was caught rewarding a bay that escaped me when the treats were not being forked over with the desired alacrity. And it was all “Did you just reward Wimsey for baying at me?!” and “Yes—isn’t it cute when he does that?!” She’s the Darth Vadar of dog trainers—may the Force be with her (I know mine always is).

Then of course Sunday was the Super Bowl and quite an exciting game is was too. We Hounds love football—a game with a gang of players, one ball and a large field in which to chase each other, knock each other down, bark orders and fight for possession of the ball. I am sure the game was invented by a Hound. Few people know that in addition to the NFL there is also the Wimsey Football League.

Teams of the WFL

The Pittsburgh Stealers

The Baltimore Ravenous

The Cincinnati Beagles

The Cleveland Black and Tans

The Chicago Bear Feet

The Detroit Loud as Lions

The Green Bay Package Destroyers

The Minnesota Vacuum Chasers

The Indianapolis Colt Sized Canines

The New Orleans Saintly Looking But Really Horribly Behaved Hounds

The New York Jet Propelled Destructors

The Washington Liver and Tan Skins

The New York Giant Hounds

The Philadelphia Eagle Eyed Food Snatchers

The Kansas City Chiefs of Everything

The Oakland Raiders

Well as if the Super Bowl weren’t excitement enough, we got word that my sister Dixie had puppies! Many, many puppies (she delivered one of them in true Hound style-- right in the middle of her human’s bed) and they want to name a girl puppy after me! (Wimsie?) Maybe they are hoping that if they appease the Hounds gods by naming it after me, it won’t actually be like me. So perhaps in the future you will be reading about Ch. Ewine’s Please Lord Don’t Let Her Turn Out Like Wimsey. But I don’t know what the fuss would be about if my niece were to be like me—I am not just handsome to behold but also quite useful about the house. Why only this week I helpfully unwrapped a bunch of light bulbs that must have been expressly laid out for this purpose and also kept Maria safe from that fiendish arch enemy, the vacuum cleaner.

And then we had a snowstorm during one of my evening walks and these are some atmospheric pictures taken from Maria’s Blackberry (which she finally managed to get programmed in English!).

But this week is also exciting because The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show begins on Monday which means all my Houndy friends will be in town. Last year I was benched next to the magnificent Phoebe and spent a considerable amount of time trying to get to know her better. And later that year I showed my devotion by stacking backwards in the show ring so I could gaze rapturously into her majestically wrinkled visage and I performed my “once around” so as to finish the maneuver with my nose stashed in her backside. And as a great mark of her favor and condescension she forbore to nip me on the nose. So there is talk of us taking a stroll in Central Park together this weekend where I plan on sharing with her all the best pooping spots and showing her where the air currents are the strongest (hint: generally this involves standing on some poor human seated on a bench) . And weather permitting I will display my mastery of the ice zoomies, although to be fair any activity that involves a 126 pound Hound, a twenty foot leash and speed is bound to be pretty impressive, ice or no. Consequently, I am showing my great love for her tonight by voluntarily participating in another episode of Wimsey Bath Night. Sadly Elizabeth’s little pit bull house guest will not be here to witness the result of these ablutions but I am sure there will be no shortage of admirers of my (temporarily) fresh smelling and spotless state. Elizabeth actually had occasion to bath the little pit bull this week—she reported it took all of 10 minutes whereas even the preparations for one of my bath nights consume an entire afternoon and the event itself requires an entire evening. It’s no wonder the ladies have recourse to the cocktail cabinet.

But although I will not be shown at Westminster this year (I refer you to last February’s post about the show for some of the reasons why not) I will be well represented by my humans. Maria will be lurking about the benching area and ringside in rapt admiration of all things canine while Elizabeth will be helping out at the ASPCA booth—just look for the smelly, drool spattered booth assistant.

Also this week we were contacted by a very nice woman who runs motorcycle-fairings.com who wanted to list my blog for her customers’ canine edification. Of course I agreed, especially as when one has a sissy name like Wimsey one has to do everything one can to burnish one’s macho credentials. And as it happens I love motorcycles and am also thinking about designing a line of accessories to reflect my passion. Motorcycles are another thing that I have in common with my idol Marlon Brando—another macho guy like myself with a first name that does little to enhance our manly image (I wonder if being named Marlon is worse than being called Wimsey?). Anyway, it’s a good thing that I at least am able to display my impressively manly attributes on a daily basis to the admiring public—something that was not really an option for Brando; although with his wild history I am sure they got displayed plenty. (I wonder if his were has nice as mine?).

Anyway, in honor of me potentially meeting Phoebe, I have selected a very relevant painting from the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art by a somewhat obscure English pre-Raphaelite painter, Ford Madox Brown. The pre-Raphaelites admired the simplicity of the art of the early 15th century before the time of the renaissance painter Raphael, who they considered elaborate and theatrical. Romeo and Juliet (Ford Madox Brown, 1870, Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Delaware). Well, I mean Romeo and Juliet are so old hat and their romance didn’t turn out very well, so I think we can substantially enhance the appeal of this painting by adding a more robust set of lovers—Hounds being rather unlikely to drink poison or stab themselves with daggers, etc. (taking a bath is about as self-sacrificing as we get). See how the beautiful Phoebe gazes out at us with such Houndly sagacity as the ardent Wimsey intently drinks in her every expression. We can see that at any moment he will caress her ponderous flew with his lengthy, moist tongue. Was there ever such devotion! Romeo and Juliet and Wimsey and Phoebe.

Well I think I shall end on this inspiring note. Until next time,

(non) Westminster Wimsey

PS: Maybe Phoebe would like a ride on my motorcycle.