Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #171

Entry #171

June 4, 2010

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the sweltering streets of the city that never sleeps and also my personal perch on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Well apparently we are having the second warmest spring on record and my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are in a perpetual state of wilt at the August like conditions. And the dreaded cooling coat has made its premature appearance masking the inherent beauty of my magnificent black and tan-ness. As far as I know, ice blue is not an acceptable Hound color. And the warm weather has caused me to significantly boost my drool production but the good news is that now when I fling drool on people it doesn’t land on their clothes because they’re not wearing very many.

But in spite of the hot Memorial Day weekend we were all out and about as usual, although we did spend a lot more time lounging about in shady spots than is our usual wont. And I finally got to share a tuna sandwich from the Loeb Boat House snack shop in honor of the holiday—as I always tell my humans, calories look a lot better on my dewlap than on their behinds. Food sharing is one of the principal elements of the Wimsey Diet and Fitness Plan (another important element being the high caloric burn that is experienced when one is being towed at a high rate of speed behind a powerful and determined Hound). And when you throw in a fair bit Miscellaneous Chasing and Assorted Wrestling it is no wonder that the ladies stay fit. More Hound, Less Gym is my motto. Of course we won’t say anything about the Compulsory Beer Drinking that I demand because I like to play with the plastic cups.

And my ego got an enormous boost this week when someone on the street though I was a Cane Corso. No doubt this was due to the swaggering air of machismo that I have been carefully cultivating as well as their abject knowledge of dog breeds. But no one is likely to notice any amount of swaggering male machismo when I am forced to wear a sissy coat to stay cool. I rather think my humans should fan me with palm fronds in the manner of the ancient pharaohs which would befit a Hound of my rank and stature.

Anthony and Cleopatra and Wimsey

Anthony: Come let us make war on Octavius and Lepidus and capture the crown of Rome for ourselves.

Cleopatra: Wait, wasn’t Lepidus the pilot guy on “Lost?” You’re not going to force me to protect some mystical time traveling island and never tell me why are you?

Anthony: No. I’m going to crown you Empress of Rome and shower you with gold, jewels and slaves.

Cleopatra: And slabs of liver.

Anthony: Slabs of liver?

Cleopatra: Yes. My Hound is very fond of liver.

Anthony: Don’t tell me he is coming with us too!

Cleopatra: Of course. He goes everywhere I go.

Anthony: I know. I hate it, by the way when you refuse me your favors because it will wake him up.

Cleopatra: Well you should learn to be a bit quieter. Anyway, he needs his beauty sleep. He looks horribly smooth when he is tired you know.

Anthony: Well what say you to the usurpation thing?

Cleopatra: Well I must consult the Hound. Men are always promising me things because of the fact that I am beautiful and powerful. Fortunately the Hound doesn’t care about that at all. He only cares about what’s best for him.

Anthony: And how is that helpful?

Cleopatra: Because what’s best for him is best for me. Have you ever tried living with a giant annoyed Hound? Trust me; it’s a lot easier just to make sure he gets what he wants.

Anthony: But don’t you think that the phalanx of servants fanning him with palm fronds is a bit excessive. After all, we each have just one servant apiece fanning us.

Cleopatra: Yes, but if he overheats he jumps in my bath of asses milk and then it smells funny.

Anthony: But does he have to sleep in the bed with us?

Cleopatra: Actually I think he views it as letting us sleep in the bed with him. In any case, no one has yet figured out a way to keep him from going where he wants to go. And then if he is displeased he bays quite a bit and you wouldn’t get any sleep anyway.

Anthony: It’s a measure of how besotted I am with you that I tolerate your Hound. Committing treason against the Roman Empire is minor by comparison.

Cleopatra: Yes, my Hound is always telling me that men think with what is beneath their togas. It’s his belief that the nose and the stomach are more reliable organs upon which to base one’s activities.

Anthony: Well what does the Hound think about the whole going to war idea? Wouldn’t he like to become the First Hound of Rome. I hear he’s fond of pizza.

Cleopatra: Well the pizza argument is very persuasive but he thinks you’re an idiot.

Anthony: But he thinks all humans are idiots!

Cleopatra: Very true. But he’s always right.

Well I could have saved Cleopatra a lot of trouble. And speaking of trouble, this week a colleague of Maria’s sent her the following email because she thinks I am so cute:

Calling All Dog Owners in New York City!! (First problem: I own Maria, not the other way around)

Are you interested in certifying your dog as part of a reality television series? (Being on a reality TV show would be bad enough but being on it with me would bring a whole new meaning to the word humiliation)

Is your dog already certified and helping people? (How about if you are certified in not helping people. It’s what I do best).

If your answer is YES to any of these questions, we want to speak with you!

What are we looking for?

- Are you and your Dog a "Super Star Team"? (Well I am a superstar, my humans not so much)

- Do you and your Dog share an extra special bond? (Yes! They sacrifice all their time and money for me and I give them nothing! I think that’s special)

- Do you live fun, vibrant and exciting lives in NYC? (I live a fun, vibrant and exciting life in NYC. My humans just watch)

- Do you love hanging out in and around NYC with your Dog and other animal lovers? (My humans do very little except hang out with me)

- Are you and your Dog the most popular couple in Central Park? (No, I am the most popular dog in Central Park. No one cares about Maria or Elizabeth. They never even notice that they are actually two different people)

- Love catching up on the latest gossip at your local dog run? (I am not permitted in dog runs owing to the magnificent pair of cohones with which I am in endowed. I am sure the viewers will love seeing them)

- Do you travel with your Dog? (Not until the ladies take lessons on how to pump their own gas)

- Are you and your Dog camera friendly? (Yes, if you like pictures of my tush and the back of my head)

- Does your Dog deserve nothing but the best? (An excellent question: ABSOLUTELY!)

- Ever wish "Friends" was centered around a Dog Run and not a Coffee Shop? (No. Then no one would be able to hear the dialogue).

We are currently casting a new reality series that follows a select group of THERAPY DOG TEAMS (How about dogs who cause their humans to need therapy?) who successfully balance their BUSY & EXCITING NYC lives (buying clothes from LLBean and being towed by the me are the high points of my humans’ busy and exciting lives) with a DOG-LOVING lifestyle. This show will explore and uncover the ALLURING and HEART-WARMING ADVENTURES of being a THERAPY DOG TEAM living and working in the BIG APPLE. (Does parking my 130lb posterior on people and flinging drool in their faces count as being heart warming and alluring? How about eating their possessions?)

To Be Considered: Please send an email to

GoodDogCasting@gmail.com (I prefer to be considered by BadDogCasting@gmail.com)

I don’t know which was more absurd this week, the fact that someone though I was a Cane Corso or that someone thought I would make a good star of a reality TV show featuring helpful and obedient dogs. Can you just imagine being ill and having a large, smelly dog take up your hospital room, fling drool on you and put his nose everywhere it doesn’t belong? Plus much of the dialog would consist of :

Wimsey, stop that

That doesn’t belong to you

Give that back

We’re not going that way

Get your nose out of there

Go away

Get off of me

Move

Ouch

and many others in the pantheon of Wimsey favorites.

Anyway, I intend to spend much of the evening sprawled in front of the air conditioner or transferring my body heat to Maria’s lap. It’s very therapeutic. Until next time,

Wimsey, the un-therapy dog