December 25, 2009
Hello Everyone, Wimsey here wishing you all a Merry Christmas from my festive perch on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Well I would like to report that New York City is having a White Christmas but as our snowstorm occurred last Friday, it’s more of a sooty grey and yellow (as befits a neighborhood with so many fine canines) Christmas.
And packages have been arriving for my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth from that acme of haute style and couture, LL Bean and there was even a new package for me from Ruff Wear. So now in addition to my fleece, which has been much admired around here among all the other fancy Upper West Side canine coats I now have something called a Cloud Chaser. Ruff Wear makes performance athletic wear for dogs and the coat rather resembles a form fitting insulated Speedo. It is designed to keep me warm and dry in snow and cold rain and is coated with Teflon to repel dirt. It also happens to be red, black and gray making me look like a four legged Ferrari. My humans have been willing to wrestle me into it because the fact that it encases most of my magnificent bulk seems to have had a salutary effect on the number of filthy wet towels headed to the hamper at the end of all my snow and rain walks. I am sure it will be making its photographic debut shortly as I am hopeful that we are in for a snowy winter.
And my humans’ LL Bean packages contained the much coveted Stabilicers which, when strapped onto boots, are supposed to keep a person upright when they are being furiously towed over slick ice by a winter weather loving Hound. They arrived a bit too late for a proper test but Elizabeth (with whom I stayed this week owing to an assortment of pulled muscles and such in my other human—amazing that such a fragile species managed to take over the earth) made the mistake of putting them on in her apartment not realizing that navigating her marble lobby whilst being towed by me would cause her to look like she was performing a highly ungraceful routine in the Ice Capades. ( It was kind of one those major “oops” moments which happen a lot around me). Thus my humans realized they will have to buy small backpacks in which to carry the Stabilicers so as to be able to put them on in the park. Yet another piece of expedition equipment for them to tote--they are starting to look like they are planning an assault on K2 rather than a walk in the park with me. Nevertheless, I look forward to pitting myself against these Stabilicers in a proper test, having previously defeated 3 different types of high traction snow boots.
Now I must apologize for reusing last year’s Santa Hat shot. Given that that picture took my two humans about an hour to achieve they thought it wise to quit while they were ahead. There will however be an upcoming shot of me in Maria’s office Secret Santa present—a bear hat. Apparently the bear hat was much coveted by her colleagues and Maria refused many lucrative swap offers for it realizing at once that it had my name on it. Let’s hope it turns out better than the Goofy Hat photos. Of course her colleagues understood her plans for the hat as I am apparently much admired and talked about (and Maria much pitied) in the office. And as far as Maria’s Secret Santa contribution, the screen wiper in the shape of an elephant that I selected at the Central Park Christmas Fair went to the Big Boss, which made it all the more disappointing that my initial suggestions of a dead squirrel, a slab of raw liver or an afternoon spent with me were nixed.
Anyway, you will have noticed a paucity of New York Christmas photos and this was sadly due to me being under the weather this week which had a dampening effect on planned Christmas activities. The week featured several vet visits, an abdominal X-ray and an ultrasound before it was determined that I have an infected prostate gland. Consequently I spent an unaccustomed amount of time this week sleeping as opposed to being out and about being photographed. Elizabeth had the stellar idea of enhancing my comfort by putting down a bunch of sheets so I could construct my own personalized sheet nest. It’s also a migrating sheet nest, so you never know exactly where it will turn up next. Or where you might trip over it in the dark.
So it turns out I will have to be on a high dose of Batril for a month and owing to my magnificent proportions I need to down 5 pills in the morning and 4 pills in the evening, all with food.
The Wimsey Sunday Night Pillball
John Madden: Hi I’m John Madden and tonight we have pre-empted Sunday Night Football to bring you Wimsey Pillball.
Al Michaels: Hey, didn’t you retire?
John Madden: Yes, but for an event this special I’ve come out of retirement.
Al Michaels: I understand the object of the game is for Wimsey’s humans to get 5 giant pills down him.
John: Yes and it’s Wimsey’s objective to play defense and get the food without eating the pills.
Al Michaels: Up first we have Elizabeth. What’s her form?
John: Well she’s not very patient and as she has had more experience and success with non-Hound breeds she is prone to underestimate the will of her opponent.
Al: Well she’s proffering a bowl of kibble mixed with turkey and whole pills.
John: A very weak play, Al.
Al: But look! Wimsey’s downed two of the pills by accident! Clearly, he’s off his game tonight John.
John: But Elizabeth’s only 2 for 5. It’s a long way to the goal line now that the Big Hound has studied her playbook.
Al: Now it looks like she’s using the old pill wrapped in turkey play.
John: Not very imaginative. The Big Hound has taken it all in. But it doesn’t’ look like he’s swallowing immediately! No there’s definitely some mouth play going on and.... there’s the swallow! Elizabeth is shaking the flews. The tension is mounting. And there it is! He’s spit the pill back. Score!
Al: OK. It’s the second down on the kitchen yard line and Maria is up next.
John: She’s looking grimly determined Al. We hear she hates getting pills spat back at her. And it looks like she’s devised a brilliant play here, Al: scrambled eggs with cheese and ham, a fistful of kibble and look! She’s used a pill cutter to quarter the pills.
Al: And the Big Hound went for it! The score is tied.
John: It looks like Elizabeth has been benched on account of poor play. Maria’s up next again and she’s using the same eggs, cheese and ham play. That may not be wise.
Al: You’re right, John. I can see some pieces of pill from up here in the announcer’s booth. It looks like the Big Hound has successfully eaten around some of the pills. It’s forced Maria to resort to the rolled roast beef play.
John: Looks like she’s gone through quite a lot of that roast beef and quite a bit of turkey as well.
Al: She’s at the twenty yard line--it’s time for the Hail Mary Play—she’s shoved the last of the pills down into the end zone! Score!
John: Well it’s half time and in spite of the score it’s not looking good for the humans. Maria’s threatening to pulverize the pills and sprinkle them in the food which isn’t very sportsmanlike.
Al: However, we hear Elizabeth has chimed in from the bench suggesting coating the pills in peanut butter and hoping the Big Hound will think he’s eating nuts.
John: Not bad. But you know if Maria could only eat the pills herself and refuse to give any to the Hound he’d have them down in a trice!
Al: Perhaps she’ll have to John. It’s going to be a long month.
Well why are humans always making these chewable pills that we canines are allegedly supposed to enjoy eating? They’re disgusting! Can you imagine what human pills would taste like if I were in charge of choosing the flavors—raw liver, decomposing animal, fresh female urine, fresh female urine with grass, etc. But I am beginning to feel better and discovered that Christmas Day in Central Park is actually Italian Tourist Hound Admiration Day. I mean I was really mobbed by these guys. (Sadly Elizabeth wasn’t around trying to sound like Sophia Loren saying bloodhound in Italian). And I also took the opportunity to provide another lesson in sex education for the younger generation. Surprisingly this time a boy, who wanted to know what that thing was dangling in between my legs and then, “Oh look, he’s got a pair of them! What are they Daddy?” while his older brother tried to get him to lower his voice. Hmmm… somebody might want to take a look in the mirror sometime soon.
Well even though I haven’t been making my usual Christmas visits, it is Christmas and time for a Wimsey classic:
Wimsey’s Christmas Carol
It is Christmas Eve and Ebenezer Scrooge has fallen asleep in his suite at Cap Juluca in Anguilla when he is awakened by furious baying. It is the ghost of his previous Hound, Marley (No, not that Marley) who appears to him and informs him that he is in big trouble Hound wise and that if he doesn’t mend his ways he’s in for a terrible future. Before Marley leaves he pees on the carpet and tells Scrooge that he will be visited by three more ghosts who will elaborate. Scrooge thinks it was all a dream brought on by too much sun, sand and rum punches. And perhaps it was the surfeit of rum punches that caused him to have an accident on the carpet. However, then he is awoken by more Ahroooos and a ghost announcing himself as the Hound Ghost of Christmas Past.
The Ghost of Hound Christmas Past takes Scrooge back to when he was a young man and shows him scenes of his young self helping to prepare Christmas turkey and trimmings for the family Hound, then scenes of him walking his Hound for many, many hours until both are happy and exhausted, then of him giving his Hound a belly rub instead of doing his math homework and finally of him laughing when the Hound eats his Bass Weejuns.
Then the Hound Ghost of Christmas Past pees on the carpet and is replaced by another Hound who says he is the Ghost of Hound Christmas Present. Scrooge sees his current self, working long hours selling Collateralized Debt Obligations that make him rich but that tank the economy and that force his Hound to sit alone long hours. He hires others to walk his Hound and never brings his Hound doggy bags from Per Se or Le Bernadin and he spends no time admiring his magnificent Hound or rubbing his belly. When the TARP money comes in Scrooge sees himself working even longer hours trying to undo the damage of the Collateralized Debt Obligations and he makes even more money. Money that he doesn’t spend on his Hound. Instead he takes luxury vacations on Caribbean islands and exotic atolls that don’t allow Hounds while he stashed his Hound in a kennel. The Hound Ghost of Christmas Present is so incensed that he not only pees on the carpet but poops on it as well.
The Hound Ghost of Christmas Future announces himself in the usual deafening way and shows Scrooge his future. Scrooge is getting Season’s Greetings cards from Bernie Madoff and is on trial for insider trading. His super model girlfriend has decided that she was never in love with him anyway and flies off to Paris with someone not on trial for insider trading. His beautiful co-op has been trashed. His modern art collection looks like it has been chewed up by a dog (although with some pieces it is a little hard to tell), his antique Tabriz carpets look like they’ve been peed on and then chewed up by a dog, his Maurice Villency leather couch looks like it has been chewed up by a dog, his Frette linens look like they have been chewed up by a dog, his mattress looks like it has been chewed up by a dog, his custom made Versace suits look like they have been chewed up by a dog. In fact it looks like everything he owns has been chewed up by a dog. Worse, nothing he owns will ever be chewed up by a dog again as his ex-wife has successfully sued for custody of the neglected Hound and won.
Scrooge realizes the error of his ways and wakes up with joy in his heart. He checks out of Cap Juluca (but not before he is assessed extra for the damaged carpet and dog hair) and takes the first plane home where he liberates his Hound from the kennel and takes him for a long walk in Central Park. Scrooge quits his job and becomes a barista at Starbucks so he has more time for his Hound and all future vacations are taken in cottages in the country so he can spend quality time hunting small, smelly mammals with his Hound. Scrooge donates all his expensive furniture to charity and furnishes his apartment with stuff from Ikea that his Hound is welcome to destroy and he eschews Versace for LL Bean. And best of all he never receives a card from Bernie Madoff.
Well that’s it for this week—I feel a pill spitting contest coming on. Hope you all have a fun last week of the year.
Until next time,
Wimsey, sick, but still annoying
Friday, December 25, 2009
Posted by Wimsey at 7:50 PM