Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #155

Entry #155
February 5, 2010

Hello everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you from the almost storm tossed reaches of the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Well I was all geared up for this monster storm that was supposed to arrive and apparently it’s going to hit to our south, leaving New York City with a measly four inches. I mean what kind of storm is that—barely enough to cover my giant paws but just enough to get me sufficiently wet and dirty so that my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have to keep the fluffy pile of Wimsey towels handy after every walk. Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a towel massage as much as the next Hound but I’d prefer a foot or two of snow in which to frolic and into which I can drag my humans. Besides my humans claim to have these things from LL Bean to put on their boots to keep them upright; I have been anxious to pit my skills against these heinous anti-Hound devices.

And speaking of frolicking check out this handsome guy—he’s a doodle named Manny who we met on our walk this Sunday (you can tell it’s Sunday because I am wearing my special Sunday best southwestern collar that Elizabeth bought me in Santa Fe) and although he looks enormous, Manny’s really a petite lad weighing in at a mere 90lbs. The rest of him is fur. Perhaps I should consider a hair transplant. Anyway, Manny is in the habit of finding and bringing home assorted sticks (his thoughtful owner allows him to keep his stick collection in the hall) acquired during his park perambulations. Well obviously inspired by the ambitious spirit of The Hound, Manny found a rather large hunk of a tree that he commenced dragging in a homeward direction. But after they were done laughing my humans started thinking about what they would have to store in their apartments were I allowed to bring home my treasured finds:

Police officers (mainly from the 20th precinct)

Raccoons

Ducks (and geese)

Italian Tourists

Tourists, misc.

Squirrels

Ladies purses

Stolen water bottles

Other people’s cars

Bitches (assorted)

Bruno the Rottweiler

Shopping bags (food items)

Shopping bags (non food items)

Central Park

Of course with regard to this latter item, I do manage to bring in as much of the park as possible—leaves, mud, twigs, etc. as well as assorted unidentified matter whose origins the ladies hope are vegetal in origin. But unlike Manny’s understanding human, Maria and Elizabeth have selfishly denied me the storage I need for my acquisitions.

But on the subject of police officers, Elizabeth and I ran across one into whose squad car I had once tried to climb and who wanted to know if I would make a good dog for his family. Elizabeth would have fallen over laughing except she was too busy trying to prevent me from doing unsanitary things to his clothing. He previously had German Shepherds so a bloodhound would be rather a shock to the system with regard to the respect and obedience aspects of life with a canine (apparently my trying to climb into his squad car had not give him a hint). As brevity was urgently called for owing to the fact that I decided to bay furiously to hasten our departure for the park, Elizabeth refrained from going into her usual detail and merely inquired as to whether he had a good divorce lawyer.

Anyway, it has been a quiet week here, the winter weather seems to have denuded the park of many of its admiring tourists, which is why I was so hoping for an enlivening blizzard. But I did receive a new giraffe, a dinosaur and a bird, sadly all of the stuffed variety. With regard to the bird, this is Elizabeth’s contribution to my toy collection and she is considerate enough to put it in places where I can steal it during my afternoon visits (stolen objects being so much more satisfying than the regular kind).

And then today Elizabeth and I ran into a woman who, observing my unusually calm demeanor, declared that if she didn’t know better she would think I was Wimsey’s twin and that the real Wimsey was the evil twin. Now I am starting to get a complex—there has also been a vicious rumor in Elizabeth’s building that I am well behaved. Where was this lady yesterday when I was forced on numerous occasions to engage the Wimsey Tractor Beam to prevent Elizabeth from going in the direction in which she wanted to go? Or when I pooped on a steep hill covered in such dense ivy that picking up the poop required excavatory skills not seen since the California gold rush? Or my insistence on sitting in laps into which I manifestly don’t fit and preventing my humans from reading books, newspapers or watching TV all because I have an urge to be scratched? Having endured the accusation that I was well behaved I was forced shortly thereafter to smack some guy who was petting me rather smartly in the nards. Well behaved indeed!

And like any self respecting New Yorker with a complex perhaps I should go into therapy:

Hound Therapist: How can I help you?

Wimsey: Did you learn that phrase from that arch villain, Cesar Millan?

Hound Therapist: No. I’m just trying to act nice so you’ll spill your guts enough to come back for endless $200/ hour sessions that are really 45 minutes.

Wimsey: OK. Just so long as this is not about rules, boundaries and limitations.

Hound Therapist: Certainly not. Did you not notice that I am a Hound. Rules, boundaries and limitations are for humans.

Wimsey: Well, then. People are starting to say that I am well behaved and this is eroding my self confidence which I fear might actually make me well behaved.

Hound Therapist: That doesn’t sound good. And how does this make you feel?

Wimsey: Like a Golden Retriever.

Hound Therapist: Yes, I can see why that would be a problem. They use Golden Retrievers as service dogs, don’t they? And the only things a Hound should serve is himself. You can’t really see a Hound in a service role can you? Or at least not without major mayhem.

Wimsey: Exactly. That’s why I am worried. Maybe I’ll get signed up to do things that require me obey humans. I mean, just look what they did to the planet, so imagine where listening to them could lead. In any case obedience is a violation of the Laws of (Hound) Nature.

Hound Therapist: Well, there’s no smell without poop, so have you been being well behaved? Coming when called for instance? Or letting your humans eat in peace?

Wimsey: Certainly not!

Hound Therapist: Well humans do engage in a lot of wishful thinking with respect to their dogs.

Wimsey: Yes, like “my Hound loves me.” That one always cracks me up.

Hound Therapist: Well you are pretty cute. Perhaps you are a victim of projection—you know, anything that looks that cute can’t possibly be bad. Acknowledging your bad behavior might force them to confront the fallacies of their belief system. They want to see you as the faithful, trusty Hound, devoted to your humans.

Wimsey: Well that’s good to know because in that case I have a bridge in Brooklyn that I want to sell them.


Anyway, this week was also Groundhog Day, but since New York City is not well stocked in the groundhog department, Mayor Bloomberg asked me to fill in:

Anderson Cooper: Hello everybody and thanks for joining us. Today we are in Central Park for a most unusual Groundhog Day.

Wolf Blitzer: That’s right Anderson. Mayor Bloomberg is hoping to curry favor with New Yorkers dismayed by cuts in public transportation, the lack of jobs and the fact that their homes are worth a month’s worth of groceries at Fairway by naming Wimsey an honorary groundhog.

Anderson: Well, he does spend a lot of time rolling around on the ground, especially if mud or decaying leaves are involved, and as to the hog part, we hear he can eat his weight in turkey. But how is this going to work?

Wolf: Well, if Wimsey wakes up and pees on that tree, we are going to have six more weeks of winter.

Anderson: What’s that sound? Is somebody revving a motorcycle?

Wolf: No, that’s Wimsey snoring. He’s showing no signs of waking up.

Anderson: Yes, we understand that he is in the process of taking his official Afternoon Nap from which he is never to be disturbed.

Wolf: Look! A park ranger is going to wake him up. Let’s listen.

Park Ranger: Hello Wimsey. If you wake up so the media can get their story in time for the 6 o’clock news, Mayor Bloomberg will throw you an all you can eat dinner in his refrigerator.

Wimsey: Go away. I’m napping.

Park Ranger: But you have to get up. You’re this year’s designated groundhog.

Wimsey: Rub my belly.

Anderson: Is that like “kiss my ass”?

Wolf: No. I think he wants the ranger to rub his belly.

Anderson: Well, different strokes, etc.

Park Ranger: Well if I rub your belly will you get up?

Wimsey: Probably not. But do I look like a groundhog? Although they do sound like something I would like to eat carpaccio of.

Park Ranger: Well you are cute and furry like a groundhog. Although I am guessing no one is going to hoist you in the air like Punxutawney Phil. At least not without a crane.

Wimsey: Well what is so urgent that I have to curtail my Afternoon Nap? Has a truck load of liver gone missing in the park or something?

Park Ranger: No. We are trying to determine if there will be six more weeks of winter.

Wimsey: Have you tried looking at a calendar?

Park Ranger: No. We think the groundhog method is more accurate. And it’s popular with the politicians who enjoy being photographed with annoyed wildlife.

Wimsey: You do realize I am not a groundhog.

Park Ranger: Look, I don’t make the rules, I just follow orders. If Mayor Bloomberg says you’re a groundhog then you’re a groundhog.

Wimsey: Groundhogs bite, don’t they?

Anderson: The Park Ranger seems to be backing away.

Wolf: But look! Wimsey’s getting up. He’s stretching. What’s that smell!

Anderson: His post-nap flatulence. It’s traditional.

Wolf: The cameras are rolling. Mayor Bloomberg is standing next to the tree looking on with interest. Wimsey’s heading off to that tree. This is so exciting! Will we have six more weeks of winter?

Anderson: We might. But Mayor Bloomberg is going to have a hell of a dry cleaning bill.


Well I think on that note I will take my leave. I must go outside and begin my snow dance. It’s one of the favorite dances of my Native American Ancestor, Dances With Kibble and involves much ritual lifting of the legs and flinging of the leaves and making joyful noises.

Until next time,

Wimsey, The Well Behaved Hound NOT