March 27, 2009
Hello everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you direct from my fascinating life on Manhattan’s Upper West Side where you never know who you might run into. Last week it was Robert Redford and this week it was all Hounds, Hounds, Hounds and more Hounds! My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth never realized there were so many demented people living in New York City! My humans are thinking about forming a Hound support group or perhaps developing a 6 step program for humans who are misguided enough to live with Hounds:
Hound 6 Step Program:
Need for love: Accept the fact that your Hound doesn’t love you, he loves himself. His self love is all encompassing—there is no room for you. Don’t take it personally but find affirmation from within because you sure won’t find it from him.
Need for patience: When your Hound shoves you off the couch he is not rejecting you, he merely finds your presence unacceptable at that moment. Be patient. Eventually he will be in the mood to sit on you and the couch shoving will start to look pretty good.
Need to be open to communication: When your Hound destroys your home and possessions he is not being mean, malicious, evil, Satan in a dog suit, unmanageable, defiant, or vindictive. He is merely trying to communicate to you that he needs much more exercise and stimulation, 18 hours of it, in fact. He will deign to nap the remaining 6 but don’t expect to get any rest yourself—he snores.
Need to accept responsibility: Nothing your Hound does is ever his fault-- including, but not limited to, knocking over small children, terrorizing small dogs, poking people in various private parts, flinging drool on unsuspecting strangers, stealing people’s picnics, kicking post poop dirt in people’s faces, rubbing his filthy muzzle on people’s nice clothes, sneaking up behind people (without first ascertaining whether or not they have a heart condition) and baying loudly, trying to get into taxis, peeing on people’s carefully tended shrubbery, digging up flower beds, shoving people aside when they are in the way of his scent line, producing a fragrant mound of poop in front of people trying to eat at outdoor cafes, etc. He is a Hound. You are a human. He is much cuter than you. He is not responsible.
Need for compassion: Always be compassionate towards the people your Hound has done bad things to. Laughing at them is bad karma. It will probably be your turn next.
Need to acknowledge a High Power: Honor your Hound.
Now I know that those unfortunate people who are not currently living with Hounds may be tempted to think that I exaggerate our prowess. But you don’t get to see the Google searches that I do that bring humans to this blog—this week for instance we had: bloodhound eating the couch. And? He’s a bloodhound. Furniture is a prized Hound delicacy. (Although to be fair the only piece of furniture Maria’s previous bloodhounds and I hadn’t eaten is the couch, not for any moral reasons but just because it’s so comfy to nap upon).
Anyway, it is unfortunate that I have no way to communicate the realities of life with a bloodhound to this poor sap. Perhaps the banner heading of my blog should read: Your Hound Isn’t Bad, He’s Just a Hound. Accept it and get over it. You’ll live longer. Of course we also get lots of Google searches for Maksim Chmerkovskiy Naked—Maksim Chmerkovskiy being the hot “Dancing With the Stars” professional that causes my humans to produce almost as much drool as I do. Can you imagine opening a link expecting to see Maksim Chmerkovskiy naked and seeing Wimsey Bloodhound naked instead? Although personally I think I am much the handsomer of the two and I am willing to bet that Maksim’s boy bits don’t garner half the public admiration that mine do.
And this Sunday we actually encountered an urban legend. For several years I periodically hear tell of other west side bloodhounds but despite all the time my humans and I spend in both Central and Riverside parks we have never encountered any. I had just about decided that other west side bloodhounds are right up there with the crocodiles in the sewer system when Maria froze and pointed her finger over the horizon as if she had seen a ghost (or perhaps Maksim Chmerkovskiy naked). But really what she had seen was the tip of a familiar looking tail! And there she was, Skeelou (it’s Greek for “girl”), a girl bloodhound who moved to the Upper West Side a few months ago from Massachusetts. Isn’t she sweet? And so well behaved—not very bloodhoundy but sometimes the girls turn out like that—which means that it is up to us boys to uphold the honor of the breed by engaging in compensatory bad behavior. And in spite of her no pull harness she doesn’t even tow! Of course I easily have enough towing power for two—my humans refer to a park walk with me as land waterskiing as the position one must assume when being towed by a boat is identical to that necessary to staying upright at the end of my leash. And as an aside, someone posted a message on a bloodhound group message board entitled “my bloodhound pulls.” Really? Shocking that is. Does nobody warn these poor people? But I suppose if they were warned we would be extinct.
Well as you can imagine as the weather turns more spring-like I am spending increasing amounts of time in the park, but I always seem to have especially wonderful adventures on Sundays. For instance, in addition to meeting another bloodhound, as we were heading into The Ramble this Sunday a water bottle laden group of tourists was just coming out--and I came within a hound hair’s breadth of snagging a bottle-- en passant-- as it were. So now my humans are reading up on other chess maneuvers that I, Grand Master Wimsey, might perpetrate on the unsuspecting public.
Sundays in the Park With Wimsey (a musical in 6 acts)
Maria’s Aria: “My Hound is trying to kill me, you take his leash”
Elizabeth’s Aria: “But he’s already destroyed my shoulder and I can’t afford the physical therapy.”
Wimsey’s Aria: “Cover your ears I am going to bay!”
Maria’s Aria: “What’s that he’s got in his mouth?”
Elizabeth’s Aria: “I don’t know I hope it wasn’t alive.”
Wimsey’s Aria: “It’s too late now”
Maria’s Aria: “If he poops in that ivy I’ll never find it”
Elizabeth’s Aria: “But that’s why Wimsey loves going in the ivy”
Wimsey’s Aria: “Cover your face, I am about to kick dirt like an irate bull.”
Maria’s Aria: “Be careful little girl he drools!”
Elizabeth’s Aria: "Be careful little girl he wants to steal your water bottle”
Wimsey’s Aria: “It’s too late now”
Maria’s Aria: “Yes he is a bloodhound. Yes, I know he’s large”
Elizabeth’s Aria: “Yes he has testicles.”
Wimsey’s Aria: “Aren’t they lovely?”
Maria’s Aria: “Hello handsome stranger, would you like to pet my Hound?”
Elizabeth’s Aria: “Hello handsome stranger would you like to go on a date?”
Handsome Stranger’s Aria: “I don’t think so. You smell and don’t look very clean.”
Wimsey’s Aria: “Dream On Smelly Women”
Chorus: “He’s So Cute.”
Well this has been a very good week overall—last Thursday was my birthday and I am happy to report that in spite of the complete lack of responsibility shown by my humans in forcing me to eat an entire birthday cake covered in fresh whipped cream as well as several slices of gourmet pizza my digestion remained on solid ground. However, the ladies decided not to push their luck and I received my birthday piece of Citarella poached salmon several days later. Now I am inordinately fond of salmon and religiously consume the leftovers of Elizabeth’s Monday night salmon dinner every Tuesday. And while Maria flakes the salmon for my enhanced enjoyment I give her a hard stare to discourage her from partaking --but I apparently outdid myself in this regard because an entire delicious piece was under deconstruction. So it was all “Wimsey gave me the stink eye when I was flaking his birthday salmon” and “I guess everything about Wimsey stinks, even his eyes.”
Well, it’s such an exciting life here in New York, especially in Spring when admiring tourists and locals are thick on the ground. But Spring also brings rainy weather which I enjoy as long as it doesn’t rain too hard. The next few days promise to be a bit moist here so I think it is only appropriate that our selection from the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art reflects the impending climactic conditions. Today we examine probably the most famous painting of the lesser known French artist, Gustave Caillebotte: Paris Street; Rainy Day (Gustave Caillebotte, 1877, Chicago Art Institute, Chicago). Although the chronology of Caillebotte’s work places him in the Impressionist period, Caillebotte is considered a Realist painter. He was very interested in photography and this interest is reflected in many of his works. But what is an urban walk in the spring rain without the presence of a magnificent Hound redolent of fine fragrance? We can see that the couple in the foreground is trying to minimize the incipient stinkiness by trying to keep the Hound dry under their umbrella. They probably won’t succeed as it looks very much like the Hound’s attention has been grabbed by something to his right (a mound of delectably steaming horse manure perhaps?) and he is about to go investigate further.
Paris Street; Rainy Day Wimsey.
One excellent thing about the rainy weather is that it causes the indefinite postponement of Wimsey Bath Night. A new bottle of my Grimeinator shampoo has arrived and has remained blissfully unopened. Anyway that is all the doings for this week so this Hound is off to crush my human on the couch that I have magnanimously chosen not to eat!
Until next time,
Wimsey, Master of the Ocular Stink.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Posted by Wimsey at 8:32 PM