Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry #111
March 20, 2009

Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey and the good citizens of New York here on the Upper West Side of Manhattan are in the throes of March Madness—no not the college basketball kind but the Hound kind. Maybe it’s the milder air, or the increase in light or the spring flowers coming up, but I am being accosted by admiring strangers at an alarming rate. “In Spring a young man’s (and woman’s) fancy lightly turns to thoughts of Hound,” and all that poetic stuff. Well if this continues I am going to have bald patches on my fur like those statues with shiny bits where people keep rubbing them. And my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are considering wearing beanies with large signs on top that say “Yes, he is a bloodhound” and “Yes they are that big.” I know most of you will think this is joke, but trust me you haven’t seen the stuff they wear. The only surprise is that we haven’t yet been ambushed by the “What Not To Wear” team.

Anyway, I have been so popular that last Sunday even Robert Redford and his female companion stopped to admire me and ask if I were a bloodhound (Paul Newman would have known the answer to that one). Well this Redford character is actually quite a little fellow and not so young so it was immensely tempting to send him flying but somehow my humans failed to see the humor in this activity. And it was all “There will be no knocking over and flinging drool on Robert Redford! He’s a movie star!” Now last year I was permitted to slime Mitt Romney at will but I suppose that’s because people actually like actors. (Perhaps next it will be “Look Wimsey, there’s Mayor Bloomberg! My taxes have gone up—why don’t you poke him in the crotch.” And then my humans can be all apologetic like, “Oh I’m so sorry did my Hound do that? Still it’s better than what he did to Governor Patterson. We have no control over him you know. He’s a Hound.” I could be the star of my own movie—perhaps to be called Lethally Annoying Weapon or something of that kind-- where I wreak havoc with people my humans disapprove of (it could be a VERY long movie). Or perhaps I could be like a Toxic Avenger type character—unsuspecting bad guys (for instance like the people who run over your feet in Fairway with their shopping carts or talk on the phone while appearing not to notice that they are walking a dog on a 40 foot flexi)—would squeal “He’s so cute!” pet me and ZAP!-- the next thing you know they stink, their clothes are stained and full of holes, they’ve got drool in their hair and many of their possessions have gone missing.

Anyway, Robert Redford made some very popular films:

Barefoot in the Park: A guy with a shoe loving Hound takes a walk in Central Park.

Downhill Racer: A guy who’s Hound likes to play Keep Away with his Gucci loafers lives on top of a hill.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid: This was an excellent movie because it is all about stealing for which I give it four toes and a dew claw up. However, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Hound has a better ring to it. The Sundance Hound was an impossibly good look, charming and charismatic Hound who tries to persuade the outlaws that there are much higher value things to steal than money. He is unfortunately unsuccessful and the gang ends up in Bolivia where the humans jump off a cliff and the Hound takes up cattle ranching.

The Way We Were: This is a story about a couple who spend a lot of time canoodling in front of the Plaza Hotel and reminiscing about how wonderful their life was before they acquired a Hound. The film features gauzy montages of unsoiled clothing, intact shoes, romantic, unmolested dinners and lovers running their hands through flowing hair not gummed up with drool whilst they enjoy free use of their bed.

Out of Africa: “I once had a Hound in Africa…but he was so bad that we got kicked out.”

Ordinary People: (originally titled: Ordinary People Shouldn’t Have Hounds): follows the trials and tribulations of an ordinary family trying to cope with depression brought on by having to deal with an exceptionally devious Hound.

The Candidate: A handsome guy is considered a perfect candidate for President until it is discovered that he likes living with Hounds. Then he is considered a perfect candidate for a mental institution.

All the President’s Hounds: President Nixon tries to cover up the Watergate burglary by blaming it on a rambunctious gang of Hounds. Two crack journalists find out through their secret contact, Deep Flews, that the culprits are really all the president’s men.

The Sting: People visit a breeder hoping to get a nice family dog. They end up with a Hound.


Anyway, it seems that my excellent movie star meeting deportment was insufficiently impressive to save me from a photo shoot with my destestable beret (it being my beret by dint of the ear holes cut in its sides). And as is inevitable in these situations, I find my own uses for things that annoy me. And just because I am not all that into hats doesn’t mean that I don’t want hats to be all that into me.

Well also this week it was St. Patrick’s Day (I guess I am lucky that the Irish don’t have a national hat) and I was thinking of wearing a sign that said ‘Kiss Me, I’m Hound” but it appeared to be wholly unnecessary given how much street action I am getting lately. And St. Patrick’s Day is always a festive day here in the Green Apple because New Yorkers say that everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. Even me:

The Leprechaun’s Tale

Once upon a time…

Leprechaun: Who the devil are you! I’ve never seen a green Hound before.

Hound leprechaun: That’s because you’ve had the luck of the Irish. It’s just run out. I’m a Hound leprechaun.

Leprechaun: Aren’t leprechauns supposed to be small?

Hound leprechaun: Not the Hound ones.

Leprechaun: Well, I’m not telling you where my pot of gold is!

Hound leprechaun: Don’t be absurd. I know where it is! I’m a Hound. Anyway, I’m not interested in your gold—I’ve eaten all your corned beef and cabbage instead. And those shoes you were supposed to repair, I’d forget about them and take the afternoon off if I were you.

Leprechaun: I was looking forward to eating that corned beef and cabbage and I am going to be in big trouble about those shoes! Did anyone ever tell you that you are annoying?

Hound leprechaun: Frequently.

Leprechaun: But we leprechauns are supposed to bring luck.

Hound leprechaun: Again, not the Hound ones.

Leprechaun: If I give you a four leaf clover and some of my gold will you go away?

Hound leprechaun: In your dreams!

Leprechaun: But how do I get rid of you!?

Hound leprechaun: You don’t. I have to be in the mood to go away. I’m kind of a reverse leprechaun.

Leprechaun: OK, well how about if I find some unsuspecting humans and tell them that if they let me go my Hound will lead them to the pot of gold.

Hound leprechaun: Would these be humans with large stores of delectable comestibles, shreddable possessions, eatable furniture and diggable gardens?

Leprechaun: If that’s what it takes to get rid of you, yes. Only please don’t show them where I hid my pot of gold.

Hound leprechaun: I wouldn’t worry, we Hounds cost people fortunes we don’t provide them.

....And that is why, even to this day, you've never heard of anyone capturing a leprechaun. The pot of gold just isn’t worth it.

And of course yesterday was my birthday-- a day in which my humans try to especially indulge me which isn’t all that easy considering the degree to which I require being indulged on regular days. But yesterday I got to go over to Elizabeth’s for some serious scratching, couch sitting and play time but it wasn’t much of a birthday as the ladies refused to feed me their luncheon grilled cheese sandwiches and only gave me a few French fries and a bit of roast chicken instead. Harrumph! However, after rather a wettish tow through the park we all repaired chez moi where I was presented with a birthday cake consisting of freshly whipped cream, angel food cake and peaches. It would have tasted better if the peaches has been slices of salmon but recipes for whipped cream salmon cakes are apparently in short supply. Clearly humans possess limited palates. Well, I am actually quite a dainty eater—apart from tasting and spitting out all the pieces of peaches-- and it took me a considerable time, but I actually finished the whole cake! And later there was some pizza for dessert. But of course into every life a few intestinal consequences must fall, so my humans are looking forward with great anticipation to viewing the results of their excellent culinary handiwork.

Well it is once again time to scoot over to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art for a little cultural edification. Today we look at one of the most important paintings of Picasso’s blue period (why do painters never have a black and tan period?). The Old Guitarist (Pablo Picasso, 1903, The Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago). This painting was painted in Barcelona several months before Picasso began his halcyon life in Paris and it is in the blue style that he adopted in 1901 after the suicide of one of his good friends. The painting is also influenced by the work of the 16th century Spanish artist El Greco, particularly the angularity of the guitarist’s head. The painting has such a sad and desolate feel to it that I think the guitarist could benefit substantially from the addition of a commiserating Hound. See how much better the guitarist looks resting his head gently on top of a magnificently blue Hound! And see how the Hound is resting his head on the arm of the guitarist and staring intently at his fingers. He clearly wants the guitarist to stop playing his sad song and give him a scratch. The Hound may be blue, but he is still a Hound. Wimsey and the Old Guitarist.

So now having survived movie star madness, St. Patrick’s Day, The Ides of March, The Beret, and my Birthday I think I have earned a well deserved nap on the couch. Sunday promises to be a lovely spring day here and I am hoping the flowers will be tall enough for me to finally pee upon.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the Sundance Hound