Wimsey's Blog; Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #121

Entry #121
May 29, 2009

Hello everyone. It’s me Wimsey coming to you from my temporary perch overlooking Riverside Park on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. I am a bit gimpy as I slid down some freshly waxed stairs this week, so my human Maria has sent me over to stay with her friend Elizabeth as Elizabeth’s building has an elevator. All of this means that I have had another human whose life I can disrupt, which is a source of intense pleasure to this large and stinky Hound. Elizabeth’s apartment now reeks of my delectable Hound scent, bits of kibble decorate her kitchen floor and an impressive array of drool art adorns her walls.

Better yet, on our afternoon walks I have been vigorously towing (being gimpy never prevents a Hound from towing) her over to the Boat Basin Café located on the Hudson River marina where she consoles herself with a beer while I flop down on the cool stone floors and am made much of by the staff and patrons. In addition to drinking in the afternoon, I have also introduced Elizabeth to the pleasures of an afternoon nap with a Hound. Thus she got to experience first hand the delights of the tail thumping you in the stomach dream and the paws running on your back dream and also the Hound squeaking and snorting in your ear dream, so I am not sure how much napping actually took place. At least for her. This attempted napping was something of a necessity because Elizabeth apparently doesn’t sleep well at night when at any moment she is under threat of being pounced upon by a giant affectionate Hound.

Now if you read last week’s post you know that I am about to become a Swamp Thing. A Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat was ordered for me because I am decidedly a Wilting Wimsey when the temperature goes much above 70 degrees (we Hounds are delicate flowers under all our wrinkles and drool). No sooner did the coat arrive than the temperature plummeted into the 50’s so I have not yet had the pleasure of trying it out, but I think that this weekend might provide an opportunity. Miraculously the thing does fit and I look very much the Space Age Wimsey in it (it’s a reflective ice blue). Maybe I will be mistaken for a space alien:

New Yorker 1: Run! We are being invaded by space aliens!

New Yorker 2: How do you know? This is New York City. Space aliens would blend in rather well here.

New Yorker 1: I’ve never seen anything like this before.

New Yorker 2: Well what did this space alien look like?

New Yorker 1: It had a long saggy brown face like melting wax and a metallic ice blue body and giant feet. It was also emitting viscous slime.

New Yorker 1: Are you sure it wasn’t just a Hound?

New Yorker 2: I don’t think ice blue is an acceptable Hound color. Of course I’d have to check with the AKC on that one.

New Yorker 1: What was the alleged space alien doing?

New Yorker 2: Well it was speaking in an alien tongue. I’m pretty sure it was saying “take me to your leader.”

New Yorker 1: Well then it couldn’t have been a Hound. They always say “I am your leader take me your food.”

New Yorker 2: Maybe I was mistaken on that but it was charging about. And rampaging. And scaring people-- except for the people who thought it was kind of cute.

New Yorker 1: That does sound like a Hound...

New Yorker 2: But why was he metallic then?

New Yorker 1: Perhaps he is an escapee from Project Runway.


Anyway, I could have used the coat this Sunday when the warm and muggy conditions meant that my multi hour walk in Central Park pretty much degenerated into my humans trying to find cool and leafy spots for me to hang out in. We did come upon a large picnic in the Ramble and my humans thought it would be fun to have a photograph of me admiring it. Unfortunately right after this picture was snapped I attempted to charge into its midst to the accompanying shrieks of “Wimsey, No!”—two of the most beautiful words in the English language. Whenever I hear them I know that I am about to have some serious fun. Sadly the combined tow weights of Maria and Elizabeth were sufficient to prevent the impending picnic invasion from actually occurring-- I find that most New Yorkers enjoy having their picnics crashed by a voracious, smelly and drool-flinging Hound. Personally I would like to see a photo montage of me annoying people in the park—the canoodling couples I try to get a good sniff of, the picnics I try to crash, the musicians whose instruments I would like to chew and of course the mimes who I know I could make squeal. But I have as yet been unable to persuade my humans to let me work my magic (or wreak my havoc) for the benefit of the camera—clearly they have no artistic sensibility. Or maybe they just don’t have any good lawyers.

But I did get to hide myself in the bushes—can you spot me? I think these bushes would make excellent camouflage :

Picnicker 1: Did you see that bush move?

Picnicker 2: What bush?

Picnicker 1: That large green one over there with the long brown ears.

Picnicker 2: I didn’t see anything. But something smells funny. Are you sure this cheese is OK?

Picnicker 1: What’s that noise?!

Picnicker 2: Probably just some coyotes.

Picnicker 1: There are coyotes in Central Park?

Picnicker 2: There’s everything in Central Park.

Picnicker 1: I’m sure I brought a quiche. It seems to have vanished. Why is there a slurping noise coming from that bush?

Picnicker 2: It’s probably the noise from the stream.

Picnicker 1: Is the stream yellow?

Picnicker 2: Maybe it’s someone’s national holiday and they dyed it to celebrate.

Picnicker 1: The sandwiches are gone too!

Picnicker 2: It’s stress. I am sure you just forgot them.

Picnicker 1: In fact the only think left of the picnic are the plates.

Picnicker 2: Were they paper or China?

Picnicker 1: China.

Picnicker 2: That explains why they’re left.


I don’t think the bush would be much help when I raid the laundry bin, I might have to get more creative for that one. But it is not so far fetched that I could be mistaken for a bush or a space alien. Now as I have discussed before, I frequently get mistaken for a pretty impressive variety of dog breeds and mixes, but this week set a new record. First on Sunday someone asked Elizabeth what kind of dog I was and Elizabeth—who to be fair does have a soft voice (except of course when she’s speaking to me)—answered “a bloodhound.” To which the gentleman replied, “Oh, a Boykin.” For those unfamiliar, this is what a Boykin looks like. Can you see the resemblance? The Boykin is 30-40 lbs and eager to please. Just like me! Now one would have thought that anyone who actually knew that Boykin was not the Yiddish word for boy would also probably know that if I were one I was a severely mutated one (or better yet, a Boykin from outer space!)

But at least the Boykin guy got the species correct. When Maria and I were out walking later in the week we were passed by two men, one of whom pronounced confidently to the other that I was a Red Bull. Granted my behavior has frequently been compared to someone who has consumed too much of that beverage and I am very large and I am quite red. And I do like to butt people with my head. But a bull? And they hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of my impressive tackle from behind! Still, I guess it’s better than being mistaken for a Shar Pei.

We also met a guy who was very excited to see me because he used to train bloodhounds. Now the funny thing is is that my humans knew immediately that he meant he trained bloodhounds for search and rescue not that he trained bloodhounds for the obedience ring. I mean apart from the sheer arduousness of the task, why would you? There are easier ways to make a living than trying to get one such as me to mind my p's and q’s. I would much rather steal your p's and q's (also your dinner and your socks) skills at which we bloodhounds excel naturally.

Well the other big new around here is that on Monday, Marmalade, one of our bloodhound blogging buddies, is sending one of her humans to New York City to see us. Perhaps I will be able to impress her human with my new Swamp Coat. Of course she will not get the full Wimsey treatment as plans are afoot to bathe me on Sunday but I am confident that I will find a few other ways to demonstrate my mastery of Houndship (like digging a few holes—it makes my nose a lovely color, don’t you think?—or invading a few picnics).

Now as in previous weeks, the Wimsey Institute of Houndish art is please to present masterworks from the second graders of the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. I am particularly pleased with this collection since I am the subject of all their pictures. The guiding principle of the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art is that every picture looks better with a Hound in it (my humans have thought of explaining this to the couples posing for their wedding pictures in Central Park as we believe I would make a fine addition to anyone’s matrimonial memories. And I show up particularly well against white satin).

Our first work is by Jerod whose Wimsey Driving a Motorcycle (inspired by a picture of me doing so in a previous post) has clearly fused the Renaissance concept of including action at multiple time points with the modern aesthetic of pop artist Roy Lichtenstein. This allegory prominently displays me at the helm of a powerful machine on the left part of the canvas. The artist has even included a self portrait of himself hanging off the back as I take off at speed. But then our eye is drawn to the action sequence denoted by helpfully drawn arrows that depict what happens when a Hound (who in the spirit of his breed is undoubtedly driving without a license) drives too fast. Sadly, I come to grief as all must who defy the laws of physics in favor of a fleeting dopamine induced surge of thrill seeking joy. Such a mature outlook in one so young.

Our next masterwork is Julian’s This is Gus and Wimsey—another fictive meeting of the Great Manhattan Hound and the Great Hound of the Yukon. Here we see life stripped to its essentials—sun, sky, trees and grass. However, in what would otherwise be a rather derivative painting, the artist has managed to convey the celestial qualities of these magnificent creatures by making them appear to float angelically above the earth. The artist has considerately placed no figures below who might be subject to the unfortunate consequences of one of the things Hounds do best so as not to mar the serenity of the scene. Both Hound figures look beatifically out at us as they meet in heavenly conclave. All in all, a very fine work.

Well I have temporarily been returned to the bosom of family (literally-- I like to drape myself on Maria’s torso) owing to the black circles under Elizabeth’s eyes which are becoming a cause for concern. But she has courteously sent me home with a supply of both boiled and roasted chicken to remember her by. Will keep you posted.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the Raging Red Boykin

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #120

Entry #120
May 22, 2009

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you direct from Manhattan’s Fleet Week, which is being held in honor of Memorial Day. All week whacking great ships have been steaming into New York Harbor and disgorging young men and women in spotless white attire. They are every Hound’s dream canvas, but sadly neither my human Maria nor her friend Elizabeth will allow me to muzzle paint them. This is a great shame since my spring drool palette now includes a variety of shades of green as well as my usual fine array of rich browns. And of course I create wonderfully textured patterns through the use of abundant plant material and thick clots of earth that I carry about in my skin folds for just such an occasion. I am sure these folks would be the envy of their shipmates were they to be seen wearing an original work of Wimsey art. Still, Fleet Week is a very festive time with New Yorkers buying drinks and giving directions to all these nautical visitors. And you can even go on board and visit these ships:

Aboard the USS Hound

Captain: Arooo Aroo Aroo…

Visitor: Stop! You’re hurting my ears!

Captain: But that is my bay of triumph because I found you.

Visitor: But you didn’t find me. I found you.

Captain: Nonsense. Who’d want to find a Hound?

Visitor: Very true. I guess you’re right.

Captain: Hounds are always right. It is one of our finer qualities.

Visitor: Yes, I can see that. What can you show me today?

Captain: Well as a special honor we can lend you these sturdy rubber boots and a tight nose clip and take you to visit the poop deck. It’s the crew’s favorite spot on the entire ship! We have a special buffet set up there as well.

Visitor: What you eat on the poop deck!

Captain: Yes. It’s very efficient that way. Especially when cook goes on a health kick and puts bran in the kibble.

Visitor: Well what are you serving?

Captain: Liver and cheese canapés, broiled liver sandwiches, pate, liverwurst, stir fried liver, chopped liver, pureed liver dip ‘n crunchy liver chips, leberknodel…

Visitor: What’s leberknodel?

Captain: Liver dumplings.

Visitor: Do you have anything that is not liver?

Captain: Well if you can catch the ship’s squirrel you can eat him, but he’s very fast.

Visitor: I think I’ll pass. What’s that smell?

Captain: This is a ship of Hounds.

Visitor: No, not that smell. The smell coming from over there.

Captain: Oh, Lieutenant Hubert is wearing his pee coat. He’s very proud of it-- he is our most decorated officer.

Visitor: Well how about you show me all your high tech equipment.

Captain: We sold it to the herding group. We have a ship’s complement of 200 Hounds. If it’s out there they will know it well before the radar and sonar.

Visitor: And what is the mission of the USS Hound?

Captain: Search and destroy.

In any case even without the sailors it has been a very social week—I seem to be running into all kinds of puppies these days and I also got to enjoy some collaborative stick chewing with a Catahoula mix called Blue. But then the weather turned very summery, which I personally find very annoying. And when I am annoyed I become even more recalcitrant and oppositional than usual as a matter of principle. So whatever direction my humans want to walk in I categorically refuse to go that way. Then I flop down in the grass and refuse to move or I climb up on a bench and remain likewise inert.

But I have to say, I never look as massive and majestic, not to say as cute, as when I am sitting on a bench next to the diminutive Elizabeth. Whenever I do this there are squeals of delight from passersby and flashbulbs pop. Actually there are no popping flashbulbs these days as everything is digital but you get the idea. Anyway, my humans are always trying to get me to sit, lie down and stay but I prefer to do these things at times and of durations of my own choosing. I’m a bloodhound—it’s how I roll. We Hounds are capable of doing many things, just not when you want us to do them—like when I “give paw” by whacking my humans with one when they stop scratching me.

Well all this unexpected hot weather and my sudden predilection for the couch rather than the outdoors (can you tell which of us is the stuffed toy?) has caused much consternation to my humans. So much so that yesterday they brought out the dreaded tape measure which I attempted to evade by fleeing to the bedroom, wriggling on my back and trying to shred the dastardly thing with my mouth. Trust me, no good ever comes of being measured—the arrival of some undesirable piece of equipment or apparel is always the ensuing result. In this case it turns out that a Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat has now been ordered for me (in the largest possible size!) so I will no doubt be giving you my views on its merits in future posts. My humans are also looking forward to vocal New Yorkers yelling at them for having a dog wearing a coat in hot weather. But once again they will be taking one for the team (me).

Meanwhile, Elizabeth has her own swamp cooler. It’s called a caipirinha and she considers it to be the perfect antidote to time spent with a resistant and stubborn Hound (all of which is redundant--Hound is sufficient). Anyway, she learned to make this drink in Rio and it has since been renamed the Wimsey Cocktail and needless to say, what with this tropical weather and this un-tropical me, she has been consuming quite a number of them. (The Wimsey Cocktail: 1) cut one lime into small pieces and place in a short cocktail glass 2) sprinkle with two teaspoons sugar 3) mash the lime and sugar well with a pestle or other implement 4) add a couple of ice cubes 5) fill glass with cachaça ((Brazilian rum)) 6) shake—either with the top of the cocktail shaker on the top of the glass as they do in Brazil or in a cocktail shaker 7) consume 8) forget about being humiliated by your Hound.

Personally I just think my humans are jealous of all the admiration that I get. Not only am I admired for my cuteness, wrinkles, ears, rich red coat and fine voice but also for that which all males aspire to be admired Yes, I am proud to say that my testicles come in for more than their fair share of laudatory comment. Now as Elizabeth and I were waiting for Maria outside the bodega yesterday evening three gentlemen began exclaiming over my general beauty before one of them noticed that I was still in possession of a fine pair of boy bits. Well, this caused quite a stir: “And look! He’s even still got his _____ (insert colloquial name for male gonads; Hint: they did not use a refined term such as nards, cahones or even stones, but rather a word whose vulgarity I feel is at odds with the elevated tone of this post) exclaimed one. And the other two: “Beautiful, beautiful” and “What a beautiful pair of ______!” and so forth. I was beaming. I really do consider my _____ to be one of my best features. But I am grateful that my ladies didn’t measure them this week. I live in mortal fear that some misguidedly helpful human will invent supportive wear for the larger male canine. We Wimseys strongly prefer to go commando.

Also this week, on Sunday’s long park perambulation we ran into a troupe of actors performing Shakespeare (this is New York after all). They were unfortunately not in costume but if you look closely you can see one of them brandishing a sword. My ladies looked at each other with but one mischievous thought—how would the actors cope should a large Hound be extemporaneously inserted into the action? Sadly they lacked the cahones, but it might go something like this:

Shakespeare in the Park with Wimsey

Duke of Gloucester: Forsooth my lord… What means this! (Enter a Hound) A giant Hound hast entered into our midst?

Duke of Bedford: Mayhap he hath mistaken his way. Should he not be taking yon path over to the realm of my lord of Westminster?

Duke of Gloucester: Aye he is certainly a comely enough Hound to appertain to my Lord of Westminster’s household. What doth he here, I wonder?

Earl of Salisbury: Methinks he hath been exiled.

Duke of Bedford: How so My Lord for sure he is handsome?

Earl of Salisbury: Aye. Handsome he is, this intruding Hound. Yet he hath held steadfastedly to his native gait, the pace, and eschewed the much valued trot.

Duke of Gloucester: Can this be so? A pacing Hound at the court of Westminster. Surely grounds for exile!

Earl of Salisbury: And yet too, yon Hound refus’ed most insistently to endure The Stack, preferring to place his feet as he would and according to his whim and his nature.

Duke of Bedford: Most foul Hound! A miscreant Hound if ever one drew breath.

Earl of Salisbury: And yet not satisfied with such mischief the Hound raised his voice in high protest against the proceedings of the Court, deafening those standing nigh. And we here tell that, in spite of all efforts contrary, he produceth much slime upon the limbs and raiment of those come out to judge him.

Duke of Gloucester: Out out damned spot indeed! Or a multiplicity of spots I fear. It is no wonder that he hath been so cast out of the realm of Westminster.

Earl of Salisbury: And amorous Hound that he is, he hath courted the ladies when such was not to be countenanced.

Duke of Bedford: Fie! What Houndly behavior hath this creature wrought. But he seems mightily attached to you Salisbury.

Earl of Salisbury: Yea, those of Houndish intent are mightily ensorcelled by the aromatics of beef finely ground and grilled.

Duke of Gloucester: Such a comely Hound as he may prove his worth when we take to the field against the perfidious French at Agincourt-- stealing provisions, giving chase to the knightly steeds, sowing confusion and destruction about him and making fearsome noises. For in these things he appears well suited by nature.

Duke of Bedford: Agreed, for even yet as we speak hath mine cloak and mine dinner been made off with.

Duke of Gloucester: Let us away and find him forthwith! (Exeunt, assembled nobles).

Well now before I leave you all for some personal grooming and a well deserved nap we will take a stroll over to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where, as with last week, we are examining pictures of me created by the second graders of Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. Our first work is an abstract piece by Brandon. At first glance we are unsure of what to make of the scene. The artist has drawn our eye to the red sun and red beak of a bird. Symbols of life, perhaps? Equally our eye is drawn to the rhythmic blue sky border at the top of the piece and the blue door below. Symbols of opportunity? But then we notice the green hotel sign and we realize that we are looking at an interpretive view of Manhattan and we perceive that there is a car with a dog’s head hanging out. The artist has employed an interesting mix of color and lack of color that gives the piece a collage-like feel to capture the dynamic bustle and confusion of New York. Brandon: Wimsey Sticking His Head Out of the Window of a Car.

Next we have a picture by Joseph depicting a fictive meeting between Gus (his teacher’s bloodhound) and myself. Both Hounds stand in a satisfyingly rectilinear pose and look boldly out at us, their excitement made palpable by their display of tongue. In an otherwise barren landscape the artist has chosen to include the one feature essential to the happiness of a male bloodhound—a delightfully sturdy tree. The artist has also made an extremely interesting compositional choice, dividing his canvas into decreasing blocks of three. The blocks echo the rectilinear stance of the canine figures and although the figurative panel is not the largest block, its lack of background color emphasizes the importance of the animals depicted. Joseph: Wimsey and Gus Meeting Each Other.

Well that’s it for this week—hope you all enjoy your Memorial Day and that you don’t have to indulge in too many Wimsey Cocktails (BTW: Gus’s human is a big fan of them). But my humans are off buying more limes.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Gem of the Ocean and proud possessor of the most beautiful set of _________ on the island of Manhattan.

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #119

Entry #119
May 15, 2009

Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey coming to you from Manhattan’s exciting Upper West Side where I have been out and about to an amazing extent entertaining my fellow citizens. It has been a very good week here Wimsey-wise-- so much so that I hardly know where to begin. On the way home from Sunday’s walk I hit the police officer jackpot! My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have long noticed my utter fascination with New York’s finest. I regularly try to sneak into the 20th Precinct, become excited by the sight of police cars and can’t help myself from trying to climb on in and join them on patrol. When I see police in the street I insist on towing vigorously towards them to say hi and I lie down and refuse to move until they pet me. But sadly these wonderful creatures generally only seem to come in ones and twos so you can imagine my delight when I espied an entire troop of them! I do wish they’d take me on patrol—I am sure I’d be a great asset:

Wimsey on Police Patrol

Wimsey: Is it time for doughnuts yet?

Officer: Not yet. Right now we have to apprehend a perpetrator who is stealing a bicycle.

Wimsey: What! Stealing is illegal?!

Officer: Yes it is.

Wimsey: Who knew? But why would anyone want to steal a bicycle. It’s not edible.

Officer: True but people steal all kinds of things.

Wimsey: Like underwear!

Officer: Not exactly. But look! There is a man snatching a purse! Let’s get him!

Wimsey: Purses can be eatable. Chewy but eatable. Have you ever experienced the impact of 126 lbs. of a rampaging Hound running at full tilt?

Officer: No.

Wimsey: Well the purse snatcher is about to. He won’t like it. Or so my humans tell me.

Officer: OK Sir. I will now read you your rights: You have the right to remain silent..

Wimsey: Except when I poke you in the crotch with my muzzle..

Officer: Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…

Wimsey: Especially any remarks threatening a Hound when he is in the course of doing his duty by using his wet cold nose to hunt for concealed sandwiches on your person..

Officer: You have the right to speak to an attorney..

Wimsey: But not to complain about the fact that you are being sat upon by a giant smelly Hound.

Officer: And to have an attorney present during questioning…

Wimsey: ..Although derogatory testimony about the giant smelly Hound is inadmissible owing to his sensitive nature…

Officer: If you cannot afford a lawyer one will be provided for you at government expense..

Wimsey: But you will be charged for the biscuits the Hound will extort from him during the interrogation.

Officer: Book him.

Wimsey: There are books? I like books. Not quite as chewy as purses but they shred better. Well Officer, another successful day-- although Hounds usually measure their success by the amount of peace they destroy not by the amount of peace they keep. I think I will take charge of the evidence now; Louis Vuitton is one of my favorites.


I am sure the officers of the 20th Precinct would love to have me in the squad car—especially since I love to drive!

Now also this week I managed to crash an evening picnic that several families were having and I was surrounded by an admiring group of adults and kids while Maria extolled my innumerable virtues. And Elizabeth who, unlike Maria, has a wide experience of dogs that are not Hounds, even managed to hold her tongue. I did try very hard to imbibe some of the nice wine they were drinking but I was given a lovely empty water bottle to play with instead. So now, in addition to police officers, I also tow to say hello to picnickers. Those nice people have a lot to answer for—it takes very little to encourage a Hound to behave badly (or like a Hound).

And speaking of picnics, on Wednesday we all went to the Loeb Boathouse Café for lunch where I highly recommend ordering the tuna sandwich and French fries. And one gentleman was so struck by my Houndly beauty and deportment that he wanted to buy me my own roast beef sandwich. I was very much in favor of this but my human vetoed the idea. And Maria wonders why I do things like run on her back with my giant paws at night when I have a running dream. I was chasing after that man and my roast beef sandwich.

And as I mentioned last week New Yorkers are very enthusiastic about the new Star Trek movie. It has even influenced my humans—this also happened this week:


Star Date 2009.0512

Lt. Maria: Captain Wimsey, we have been summoned on an away mission in sector 0319 of Central Park by Lt. Elizabeth of the Starship LL Bean.

Captain Wimsey: Yes, I know. We Hounds always know when an away mission is imminent. Especially those that involve the use of the automotive shuttlecraft. We are to rendezvous at 17:30 hours. Prepare the equipment and do not forget to pack sufficient provisions as you know how peckish I get during away missions. Meanwhile I will be resting in my quarters with my new large stuffed squeaky dog.

Lt. Maria: Aye Aye Captain. We are ready to proceed.

Captain Wimsey: We will just transport to the bottom of all these stairs.

Lt. Maria: But we don’t have a transporter.

Captain Wimsey: I know but we have the manual Hound transporter—it’s just as fast and just as dangerous.

(Cut to: The Ramble, Central Park)

Captain Wimsey: Ah, a P class environment my favorite. Hang on! Red Alert! Tricorder nose readings indicate a raccoon bearing 63 mark 8. Engage tractor beam.

Crew: Inadvisable Captain. The alien is hostile and is in possession of pointy teeth and sharp claws.

Captain Wimsey: Engage tractor beam! I must make first contact!

Crew: All hands! Alert! Haul Captain Wimsey hard a port!

Captain Wimsey: I am very displeased! I will have you all court martialed. Or better yet I will sit on you.

Crew: We had no choice Captain. Interfering with a raccoon is a violation of the Prime Directive. Also we can’t afford the vet bill.


I was immensely annoyed at being denied the opportunity to visit with the raccoon and promptly stalked off to my room with my giant squeaky dog when we got home. He is the only one who understands me. I take him everywhere and he even sleeps with me. And when I wake up from a nap the first thing I do is give him a few squeaks, day or night, so my human always knows when I am awake. Maria loves the squeaky dog too—especially when I shove him into her face and squeak him!

I mean I give my humans so much and they deny me the simple pleasures of life like messing with a raccoon. And in spite of their protestations that being with me is taking years off their lives I know that I am really responsible for keeping them healthy. I think instead of prescribing pills, doctors should prescribe Hounds:

Are you tired, depressed, overweight? Sleeping too much, sleeping too little or have no friends? Do you have too much nervous energy? Are you pompous? Full of yourself? Spend too much time working? Forget all those pills, potions and lotions! Now there’s Miracle Hound. Miracle Hound is a complete life system guaranteed to restore your mind and body to a robust state of health. Miracle Hound can cure anything, anywhere, anytime. Talk to your doctor today and see if Miracle Hound is right for you. (Disclaimer: Miracle Hound may cause broken bones and abrasions. Do not use Miracle Hound if your home contains valuable possessions. Side effects of Miracle Hound include an increased alcohol consumption, high blood pressure, financial ruin, body odor, lack of fashion sense, bruises in funny places, underwear with holes, exhaustion, uneven arm lengths and slime).

Get Miracle Hound today and start on the road to a happier, healthier and certainly funnier (although not necessarily in a good way) life!

Now the other really big thing that happened this week is that I received a package from Fairbanks, Alaska. As some of you know, I have been writing to the second graders of Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks about New York City. And they sent me thank you letters and drawings and salmon treats. It was quite thrilling and I enjoyed hearing from all of them; I was especially taken with the drawings that featured yours truly (and my much admired deep forehead wrinkle). Now in honor of this, The Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art will be featuring a few of these drawings each week along with my usual erudite commentary.

Our first artist is Alex with a very impressive view of me on the Staten Island Ferry. Notice his strong sense of line—reminiscent of a young Picasso I think—and how his bold use of primary colors draws our eye into the scene. He has also cleverly eliminated extraneous details, placing the action against a stark canvas and the subject matter benefits enormously from his minimalist aesthetic. He has also borrowed a bit from some impressionist works in his cropping of the sun which lessens the sense of artificiality one gets when one views a painting. And of course his rendering of me, complete with my black saddle and perhaps in mid-bay and preparing to go for a swim is masterly. Alex: Wimsey About to Go Swimming in the Water.

Next we have a pastoral scene by Jamilya. What strikes us immediately is her rhythmic, and van Gogh-like use of cross hatching which adds interest and intensity to the limitless horizon. We also note with pleasure her use of symmetry in the echoing verticals of the tree and the girl as well as of the two central clouds. This is delightfully balanced by the seeming asymmetry of the three central flowers. However, when we look closely we realize that the space occupied by the three flowers is in fact equaled by the space taken up by the magnificent Hound, thus maintaining the internal symmetry of the work. A ball is seen in mid-flight yet both figures look directly into the viewers’ eyes as if they have been surprised unawares in the middle of the game. What a dynamic and delightful scene! Jamilya: Me and Wimsey at the Park Playing Ball.

Well it is time for me to go commune with my squeaky dog and berate Maria for the loss on my roast beef sandwich and raccoon. We are yet again expecting some wet weather so I don’t suppose I will have nearly as exciting a week this week. But one never knows—especially when one lives with a Hound.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Artist’s Muse

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #118

May 8, 2009
Entry #118

Hello everyone, it’s me, Wet and Wild Wimsey coming to you from the rain drenched Upper West Side of Manhattan. Well last week it wasn’t bad enough that I got water poured on me in the bath tub, this week I am getting water poured on me outside as well. All of which means my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth, in a foolish attempt at self preservation, have been walking me in a gentle leader. I like to drag my humans through the mud—literally-- which is fun for me but potentially injurious to them. Hence the heinous Gentle Leader.

Anyway, you will note that in this week’s photos I am not my usual smiling self but wet and cheesed off at this aquatic turn of climactic events. Personally I blame my humans for the weather and cast accusing glances at them throughout these wet walks. But under the heading of every rain cloud has a silver lining, I did have the park pretty much to myself on Sunday, my humans being the only people foolish enough to be out and about taking a stroll. Of course other New Yorkers are not living with a large, demanding Hound and are therefore not seeking to avoid living with a large, demanding Hound with an uncontrolled case of cabin fever-- large demanding Hounds with uncontrolled cases of cabin fever have an unfortunate tendency to eat the cabin. It’s much better for them to get wet and muddy and have a large demanding Hound with an uncontrolled case of snoring in the bed fever.

Anyway on the subject of the empty park I did get to investigate this statue of Hans Christian Anderson without the throngs of excited young ‘uns who are normally frisking about. Now Hans Christian Anderson wrote a lot of famous fairy tales and I am a big fan of fairy tales but many of them could be improved:

Cinderella: A beautiful young girl is prevented from going to a ball by her wicked step mother and ugly step sisters. She goes to the ball anyway because her Fairy God Hound assures her that anything is possible if one is determined, stubborn and persistent enough. While she is at the ball the prince falls in love with her but she flees on the stroke of midnight. The Prince’s Hound, always on the lookout for the finer things in life discovers that Cinderella has dropped a shoe and settles down for a good chew (the whole glass slipper thing is a myth—what woman would want the world to see what her toes look like crammed into her ball room stilettos). The Prince, recognizing the shoe, bribes his Hound to drop it with a large piece of liver cooked just the way the Hound likes it. He waves the smelly slipper in front of the Hound (Cinderella had after all been dancing in it for quite a number of hours) and tells the Hound to find its owner. The heroic Hound springs into action and finds Cinderella. With his superior sense of smell the Hound recognizes her immediately even though the prince, who can only rely on his eyes, is somewhat doubtful that this dowdy creature wearing no makeup and no designer clothing and jewelry is really the woman of his dreams. He wonders what his mother will think. Nevertheless, the wise Hound assures him that all women look like this without professional assistance and the prince whisks Cinderella off to the royal hair and makeup salon. The Hound finally gets to chew up the shoes and Cinderella is so grateful for the Hound’s assistance that he is always by her side and they live happily ever after.

The Emperor’s New Clothes: A metrosexual emperor who is very fond of clothes hires two men who promise to make him the most beautiful suit of clothes ever. They do, but unfortunately the Emperor’s Hound is also very fond of clothes and so the emperor has to go out naked.

Little Red Riding Hood: Little Red Riding Hood, a visually challenged child, is taking food to her sick grandmother and is naïve enough to tell a Hound. The Hound suggests that she add some nutritious liver to her basket and while she is doing so he sneaks off to the grandmother’s assisted living facility and shoves her out of bed and takes her place. Little Red Riding Hood, who neglected to put in her contacts that morning, nevertheless notices that her grandmother seems to have very long ears and smells funny. But then she notices all the wrinkles and is reassured. The Hound consumes the basket of food and sends her out to MacDonald’s for some fries.

The Princess and the Pea: A prince’s overly invested mother is determined that her daughter-in law be a real princess (aren’t they all?) One stormy night a beautiful wet princess turns up at the castle. Her wet garments leave nothing to the imagination and the prince is smitten. His mother, who really wants her son never to marry at all, is determined to prove that the shapely young woman is not really a princess. She places a pea under twenty mattresses and next morning asks the young woman how she slept. The young woman complains of getting no sleep and of being bruised. The controlling mother sadly thinks it’s because of the pea she put in her bed. The Prince definitely knows it’s because of the Hound he put in her bed.

The Three Bears: Three Bears go out for a stroll and foolishly leave their cottage unlocked while their porridge cools. When they return they find their porridge has been eaten, their chairs chewed up and their beds slept in. “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” asks the Papa Bear. “It’s that large smelly Hound again you idiot” “I told you to lock the door but you never listen to me” complained Mama Bear. The sequel: The Three Bears Go To Divorce Court.

Snow White: A vain queen leaves her beautiful young rival to die in the forest where she is rescued by and moves in with seven Hounds. The Queen finds Snow White when she follows a suspiciously large delivery of Febreze and tries to kill her with a poisoned apple. But before Snow White can eat the apple it is stolen by a Hound upon whose cast iron stomach it has no effect. Snow White becomes exhausted with all the stench and the cleaning involved in keeping house for the Hounds and takes off with the first handsome prince who turns up. The vain queen asks her mirror “Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who is the Fairest of them All? “We Are!’ bay the seven Hounds in the mirror.


Anyway with all this rain it’s been a pretty uneventful week—although I was awarded a new large stuffed dog to assuage the boredom and there was more baking to stick my nose into. And I did manage force down a record breaking 15 cups of kibble on Sunday which gave Maria an opportunity to eventually demonstrate her prodigious skill in one handed, one bag large pile poop scooping. It is a skill much envied by Elizabeth who has yet to master this essential art. But bad weather or no, a Hound has to keep his strength up especially if he wishes to retain his ability to pull with the force of a tractor beam. And speaking of tractor beams, a new Star Trek movie opened today. I am a big fan of Star Trek as we Hounds are nothing if not enterprising

Hound Trek

These are the voyages of the Hound Ship Enterprise, its five year mission to explore new worlds, seek out new life, new civilizations and new stuff to chew up and to boldly split infinitives and go where no one (with good reason) has gone before but which will result in high grossing movies and TV shows.

James T. Hound: Where is my crew?

Spock: Here we are Captain. I’m your first officer.

James T. Hound: I’ve never seen a Hound with pointy ears before.

Spock: All Vulcans have pointy ears, even the Hounds.

Dr: I’m Leonard McCoy but everyone calls me Bones.

James T. Hound: What a delightful name! When I was at Starfleet Academy everyone used to call me “Bras” but of course now that I am a Starfleet Officer you can only call me that in private.

Engineer: Aye Captain. I’m Scotty.

James T. Hound: Who let a terrier on board!

Scotty: Nae Captain. I’m called that because my name is Montgomery Scott. Also in the spirit of national stereotyping that pervades Starfleet I am a Scottish engineer. Ensign Sulu that Asian chap over there does all the math on the bridge, Ensign Chekov has the only Russian name anyone’s ever heard of and he plays chess and is very emotional. Lieutenant Uhura is a hot African intergalactic telephone operator. And there is always an expendable clean cut American male ensign who no one has ever heard of and who is going to get killed. But the main thing is that no matter how stereotyped we are we all unite against our enemies.

James T. Hound: The Klingons?

Scotty: No. The cats. We intend to boldly chase them where no Hound has ever chased before.

James T. Hound: Well our first mission is not against the cats. It seems that the Romulans are digging a huge hole into the planet Vulcan and are going to destroy it by putting brown matter in the hole.

Spock: But isn’t that what we Hounds do all the time?

James T. Hound: Yes, I know. But this brown matter explodes.

Bones: Why are the Romulans always running around destroying things?

James T. Hound: No one actually knows. They just do. Perhaps they like being villains—it certainly gets them attention.

Bones: But do we have to always correct them? Perhaps if we simply ignored their bad behavior or redirected their attention to something more positive? Maybe if they had some rawhides to chew on they wouldn’t blow up so many planets.

James T. Hound: Well if you had your head in a fully loaded garbage bin would you stop if you were ignored or if someone offered you a rawhide or a squeaky toy?

Bones: I see your point Captain. I guess gratuitously blowing up planets is in their genes.

James T. Hound: Anyway, we will use our tractor beam to pull them away from Vulcan…

Crew: Hurray! We love using the tractor beam!

James T. Hound: Yes I know. We all do. Anyway then we will board the vessel with our Phasers set to “knock over” and release clouds of debilitating gas. Then a special commando team, as directed by Engineer Scott, will lift their legs all over crucial bits of the anti matter engines and transport back here before the engine explodes. Any questions?

Scotty: Will there by any cats involved?

James T. Hound: No. Are you sure you’re not a terrier?

Spock: Can we raid the Romulan’s kitchen first?

James T. Hound: Sadly there won’t be time. But if we succeed I’ve arranged shore leave on the pleasure planet of Rigel Laundry Hamper Alpha.


I think I would have made a very fine captain of a starship as I make a very fine captain of the couch. And I am fortunate in having a very able crew who can be forced, manipulated, coerced, wheedled and charmed into obeying my wishes which are truly my commands.

It’s now time for us to pop over to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where all this wet weather has influenced my choice of this week’s art: The Umbrellas (Pierre-Auguste Renoir 1881-86, National Gallery, London). Now this is a very unique painting (notice the lengthy dates of the painting) because Renoir originally started it in 1881 when he was still painting in the Impressionist style. Subsequently he became disillusioned with the impressionism for which he is best known and spent the rest of his life trying to define his style. In 1886 he picked up the painting again and repainted the figure to our left in a crisper more classically oriented style—he had been looking at French neoclassical paintings at the time—and with a slightly duller palette. Very interesting. But not half so interesting as when a magnificent Hound has been inserted into this wet Parisian street scene! Notice how several of the figures are looking at him with great approbation. Perhaps they are admiring his ingenuity in keeping himself dry with his own umbrella. The Hound presents a charming and unifying focal point for this otherwise dualistic picture. Wimsey’s Umbrella.

Well, I think that about wraps it up for this soggy week. I am off to do an un-rain dance.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Starfleet Captain of the Upper West Side

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #117

Entry #117
May 1, 2009

Hello Everyone. It’s me, Wimsey, wishing you a Happy May Day from the festive confines of my apartment(s) on New York City’s Upper West Side. My human Maria was feeling under the weather this week so I have been spending a few days at my other apartment—that of her friend Elizabeth, where I am treated like the Great Hound King that I am. Of course coping with me when one is perfectly on top of the weather is tough enough so when my human is feeling the least bit peaky I am packed off to my alternative Palais de Hound whose view over Riverside Park allows me to keep tabs on all the canine comings and goings. And every morning when I am in residence (I think perhaps they should fly a standard over Elizabeth’s building just like they do for the Queen of England) we conduct a proper royal Levee:

The Levee of Wimsey I, The Hound King of Manhattan

4 am: The Pre-Levee: His Majesty conducts vigorous and acoustically robust ear flapping activities. This is to alert the soundly sleeping Court (Elizabeth) that dawn is nigh and that they shouldn’t get too comfortable before the actual levee begins. Lest the sentiment go unnoticed, His Majesty repairs to his blue enameled china Chopard water dish and consumes its contents in an equally acoustically robust manner.

7:30am: The Ceremonial Snuffling of the Face: His Majesty gently awakens the Court in time honored Hound fashion by snuffling her face with his enormous cold and wet nose, while soft drooly wrinkles envelop the face and make a delightful contrast to His Majesty’s stiff facial bristles.

7:32 am: The Ascending of the Bed: Having successfully completed the Ceremonial Snuffling and been rewarded by the appropriate squeals of delight, His Majesty proceeds to step regally onto the bed itself whereupon he sits upon the Court and graciously allows himself to be given his Morning Scratching.

7:32 am (continued): The Morning Scratching: His Majesty is given a thorough scratching whilst sitting facing the park so that the royal nares can suck in the incoming Riverside Park breeze.

7:37 am: The Ejection of the Court and Assumption of The Divine Right of Bed: The Morning Scratching having been completed to the satisfaction of His Majesty, he gently encourages the Court to leave the Royal Bed and prepare for the Royal Morning Park Walk. He subsequently assumes his rightful place among the bed’s fluffy blankets and pillows.

8:00 am: The Leashing (attempt 1): In the interval required for the court to assume raiment appropriate for the Royal Morning Park Walk (LL Bean, Couturier to the Court of Wimsey I) his Majesty falls into a deep and restful sleep amongst the fluffy blankets and pillows of the royal bed and is no longer in the mood for the Royal Morning Park Walk. The Court uses the inducement of a biscuit placed under the royal nose, but to no avail.

8:10 am The Leashing (attempt 2): His Majesty is now full cognizant of the turn things are taking and greets the second approach of the collars and leashes with a roll over on the royal back and a demand for a Royal Belly Rub. The Court, ever hopeful that compliance will ultimately result in preparing His Majesty for The Leashing necessary to the Royal Morning Park Walk, rubs his Majesty’s Belly in the manner most gratifying to His Majesty.

8:20 am The Leashing (attempt 3): The Court, having proffered biscuits and belly rubs is now forced to take stronger measures for the good of His Majesty’s eliminatory systems, which would not be served by a Royal Lie In. The Great Head is laboriously lifted and the Royal Collar fastened about the Royal Neck. The Royal Leash is attached and gentle pressure is applied to encourage His Majesty to descend from the Royal Bed.

825 am: The Royal Elevator Ride: At last the King and Court have exited the Royal Apartments and await the service of the Royal Elevator. Receiving the customary salutation of “Oh no, he’s back!” from the Master of the King’s Elevator the King and his tail are firmly tucked into the Royal Elevator and the King and Court make their way along the Ceremonial Allée (the service entrance) to the street and thence to the Royal Park.

8:30 am The Royal Morning Park Walk: During the King’s two hour Morning Park Walk His Majesty is greeted by His subjects, photographed by various paparazzi and assiduously inspects the condition of his demesne’s abundant plantings and waters them accordingly. The Royal Poop is achieved and its condition carefully inspected and duly noted for later discussion among the courtiers (when both the King’s courtiers are present the size and condition of the Royal Poop is discussed and debated at great length in the context of other Royal Poops produced that day and on previous days and the size and condition of future poops to be achieved are speculated upon).

10:30 am The Royal Breakfast: His Majesty supervises the preparation of his morning meal with great attention. His Majesty frequently calls into question the need for his scrambled eggs to be cooled in the refrigerator but the Court fears the consequence of a burned royal tongue and its attendant recourse to the costly services of the Royal Physician. The King however quite enjoys the services of the Royal Physician and is always in favor of a visit, except when it results in a finger up his bum or liquid down his ears.

10:45 am: The End of the Levee: The King repairs to the piece of furniture of his choice for a much needed nap. The burdens of kingship weigh heavily upon The King’s small number of neurons. And he needs his beauty sleep to appear before his public appropriately wrinkled and bleary eyed.

Well as you can imagine staying with Elizabeth is quite enjoyable-- at least for me. Yesterday she took me to lunch at the Loeb Boathouse Café and we shared a delicious tuna sandwich much to the delight of the tourists. The really amazing thing was that I actually shared like a gentleman and didn’t snatch the sandwich out of her hands in the manner of many of my Houndly brethren. And while I am generally un-Hound like in my attitude towards food—I tend to be somewhat finicky and like to actually engage in mastication—I did find a half of a sandwich lying next to the ball fields and the sight of it awoke my inner Hound—a snatch and a gulp and it was history. My humans were both terribly impressed by the sheer speed and Houndiness of the maneuver and I was all too happy to bolster my Hound credentials in this manner.

But Elizabeth did decide to do one ridiculous thing during my stay—she bathed me by herself. Wimsey Bath Night was apparently long overdue and I apparently no longer smelled like a Hound; I just stank.

Bob Costas: OK, here we are with one of the most dangerous sports known to man—Solo Wimsey Bathing.
Dick Engberg: And we’re off to a rousing start—Wimsey has apparently smelled the shampoo as it was being prepared and is running around looking very uncooperative indeed.

Bob Costas: That’s right Dick and without a team member to bribe him with turkey and subdue him we’re in for a wild ride.

Dick: Well I see Elizabeth’s lassoed him with a chain and leash and is dragging him into the bathroom.

Bob: Getting him into the bathroom is one thing. Getting him into the tub is another.

Dick: That’s right. But she seems to have forced him into the tub and is employing a body block.

Bob: Oh no. She’s turned on the water and he’s out of the tub!

Dick: Now she’s forced him back in. But can she wet him down?

Bob: She’s got one hand on his leash, one hand on the shower attachment and is using quick body moves to block his egress. It’s kind of like watching a wide receiver trying to get to the goal post while being checked by a defensive linebacker.

Dick: Have you noticed that in the process of wetting Wimsey down Elizabeth has wet herself down as well.

Bob: A sacrifice play Dick. There was no other way.

Dick: Oh no! Wimsey’s made a break for it! He’s out! And he’s flooding the bathroom floor! And he’s just shaken wet hair on the walls and ceiling. Oh my!

Bob: Well, she’s taken hold again and has forced him back in. But she turned on the water and he’s out again!

Dick: How long can this go on! Two superb athletes in a classic battle of wills. Normally my money would be on the Hound, but I understand the stench has gotten Elizabeth pretty fired up. Especially as Wimsey’s made her bed smell like a swamp.

Bob: OK, she’s shut off the water and is pouring on the soap. She seems to have overlooked the difficulty that hanging onto a soapy leash would entail!

Dick: Your right! The leash has slipped right though her fingers and he’s out again! Now the bathroom is flooded with slippery soapy water and there’s another colossal shake! What an event this is turning out to be. An uncooperative 126lb Hound is one thing but a soapy uncooperative 126lb Hound is the pinnacle of sport. To see these two exhausted wet and soapy competitors going at it head to head brings tears to my eyes.

Bob: I think that’s just the soap Wimsey flung in them. But Elizabeth is facing a problem here Dick. Having gotten Wimsey wet and soaped up she seems unable to get him back into the tub. He’s just too slick for her.

Dick: She’s gotten into the tub herself and is trying to haul him in after her. But he’s not budging so I see she is using the push the tush maneuver.

Bob: He’s in! But will he stay in? And can Elizabeth keep from slipping and incurring yet another Hound related injury? But first, a word from our sponsor, The Hospital For Special Surgery.


Well it was all pretty humiliating and to add to the indignity Elizabeth tied my leash to the front door while she cooked my dinner to prevent me from running around and soaking the furniture. My view was that I was wet. I was cheesed off. And I definitely was going to climb up on something. In the end I had to settle for climbing up on Elizabeth. But she was already wet. The only good thing is that the experience is unlikely to be repeated.

Anyway, as I mentioned last week we had three days of hot summer weather so this Sunday we took a very leisurely Central Park walk where mostly I flopped down and looked pathetically hot in spite of the fact that water was continually being brought to me to drink and being dumped on me which was really pretty annoying (although the ladies maintain that it is to help cool me down. Personally I think they just like annoying me for a change). But there was a method to my madness—all the flopping and refusing to move, ostensibly because of the heat, meant that a walk that should have taken 1.5 hours took 3 hours instead. My humans always maintain that I am not all that bright, but really I am purposefully unintelligent. Also, since there wasn’t a lot of shade guess who sat in the shady spots and guess who sat in the sun?

Now my ladies are both very fair and fry like shrimp so both were slathered in sun screen. Elizabeth also has sensitive skin so is always on the look out for special sun block—last year’s version had zinc oxide and made her look like she was auditioning for a kabuki play. This year she has new stuff that is fine as long as she doesn’t perspire—then the white cream magically reappears and streaks down her face. Such an attractive look. I’m sure the men will be flocking this summer. But the ladies felt strangely bereft in the weather without any special seasonal hounding clothes or gear to carry so they are thinking about purchasing some hi tech mesh shirts that will help to keep them cool during our adventures and I also might come in for a new lighter weight cooling vest this summer. We should be quite a tableau.

Well this is a long post so I think we will skip our visit to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art. In addition to all the other goings on this week I met a raccoon (wasn’t allowed to say hi) and met my very first Bracco Italiano—we didn’t have the camera but check out this picture—they kind of look like me! New York is a cosmopolitan city even for canines! And this weekend people will be celebrating Cinco de Mayo and all things Mexican (except the flu).

Until next time,

HRH Wimsey