Friday, June 25, 2010

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #173

Entry #173
June 25, 2010

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the hot and humid streets and lawns of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I expect to see palm trees growing and jungles sprouting at any moment.(perhaps there will even be monkeys to chase instead of the more climactically temperate squirrels).

My cooling coat is getting quite the workout and my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are appreciating the challenge of trying to stay alive whilst attached to a wet, annoyed Hound trying to outrun his cooling coat down steep flights of stairs.

And speaking of my cooling coat, as you can imagine it engenders much notice and comment among the denizens of the metropolis—everything from people accusing my humans of Hound abuse for having me wear a coat in the heat to people thinking that I am a highly important service dog. Of course I am a highly important service dog, just one that demands service rather than rendering it.

But this week some guy hit the jackpot in the creative comments department vis a vis my coat when he opined that it was a bullet proof vest! Now this made me feel very macho and fueled my fantasies of working with the police, although I have to admit that my enemies are much more likely to use teeth than guns.

Anyway, this made me think that it was time for an episode of:

Wimsey, Undercover Hound

Officer Wendt: Well Wimsey are you ready to go undercover?

Wimsey: Well, usually it’s too hot under the covers for a Hound of my generous proportions, but I will do my best.

Officer Wendt: But first you have to put on your bullet proof vest.

Wimsey: Do I have to? I hate wearing clothes. And anyway, the vest doesn’t protect my most attractive bits.

Officer Wendt: Those will have to go under cover too. You are masquerading as a Mafia Princess’ dog called Gelato.

Wimsey: What! I have to be a fluffy Maltese! Whose idea was that!

Officer Wendt: I think your humans suggested it. In any case, large smelly Hounds are not noticeably popular among Mafia Princesses.

Wimsey: Well at least I’ll get to sit on laps with no one screaming at me. And I suppose white is a better color in the summer.

Officer Wendt: We want you to infiltrate the family and find out who is going to be whacked.

Wimsey: Don’t you mean who is going to be thwacked? The answer is my humans—it’s why they are always trying to cut the nails on my giant bear paws.

Officer Wendt: There will be no thwacking! We don’t want you sleeping with the fishes.

Wimsey: Not even smelly, rotting ones? Sounds heavenly

Officer Wendt: No. And there will be no stealing of the braciole either.

Wimsey: No stealing and no thwacking! I’m not sure I like the sound of this.

Officer Wendt: Too bad! Now we have a car ready to take you to New Jersey.

Wimsey: New Jersey! You didn’t say I’d have to go to New Jersey. No one wants to go to New Jersey. Not even the people who live in New Jersey want to go to New Jersey! That’s why they all come here.

Officer Wendt: We know. We’re always having to deport them back to where they came from every evening.

Wimsey: Well wearing a bullet proof vest was bad enough. Hiding my resplendent boy bits was bad enough. Pretending to be a fluffy Maltese was bad enough. But New Jersey is out of the question! And they talk with funny accents and wear loud clothes and too much jewelry and have people called Snooki.

Officer Wendt: Well perhaps you could go under cover here at the precinct and find dirty cops.

Wimsey: You mean the ones that take bribes?Officer Wendt: No the ones that don’t change their underwear.

Of course New Jersey does have its good points—they have a lot of roads that go to much better places. And speaking of better places, the Wimsey Spring Fling that got canceled has now been transformed into the Wimsey Summer Frolic. My summer calendar now includes a mid July trip to the northern reaches of Upstate New York (July being one of the only months when it doesn’t snow up there I’m told) to visit Maria’s mother (who only has a scant few weeks to shop and cook!) and then on to the Lakes of Michigan to see one of my breeders.

And as usual finding a car big enough for me and all my stuff that does not cost the GNP of a small nation and hotels that will accept me are proving challenging. One “pet friendly” place told my human that they only take dogs under 40lbs. I mean what is so magical about a dog under 40lbs? Clearly these are people who are poorly acquainted with The Terrier Group and their legendary powers of mayhem.

Anyway, my breeder kindly offered us the use of her new motor home when we stay in Michigan but the thought of being cooped up with me all night in a small space made Elizabeth blanch (the highlight of my overnight stays with her being my frequent post-drink of water bed checks of which she is a big fan).

But summer is in full swing here and every year I look forward to watching Wimbledon, which mostly consists of me sitting on Elizabeth and getting scratched and eating snacks. So many people wearing white is an exciting prospect to a muzzle smearing Hound such as myself. But for sartorial splendor that deserves a little (OK maybe a lot) of mussing, you can’t beat the Queen--her visit to Wimbledon was televised yesterday. I find myself particularly attracted by the Mad Hatter style hats she favors—I think they would look a lot better if I were permitted to sit on them first and squash them down a bit as she is rather petite. And her brightly colored clothes could do with a few earth tone additions.

But the Queen and I actually have quite a bit in common:

We both rule our domains (although I am more of an absolute monarch and she a mere constitutional one)

Everybody stares at us and wants to take our picture (although I am much cuter)

We both strive to look dignified at all times (although I am at my most magisterial when considering the weighty question of where to poop next—wonder what she’s thinking about?)

We seldom do things we don’t enjoy (the Queen watches a tennis match every 33 years and I aspire to a similar interval between baths ((note to self: should tell her that tennis is much more enjoyable when someone is rubbing your belly))

We both have extensive and brightly colored wardrobes (although I doubt she has to be wrestled into hers)

We both have been disappointed by those around us (bulimic and toe sucking daughters-in-law in her case and pizza hoarding humans in mine)

We both love horses (although I suspect for different reasons)

We both love dogs (I suspect for exactly the same reasons—we are wonderful creatures)

We are both much loved despite having done very little to deserve it

But no summer post would be complete without a roaching montage. The cynical amongst you might think that I was merely trying to rid myself of my cooling coat, but in actualality I was trying to enhance its delightfully stinky smell so that in addition to it smelling like a Hound it would also smell like the stuff a Hound rolls in.

And the other exciting news around here is that my human will be looking for a new crib for us for the Fall! We will be staying in the same neighborhood, however, owing to my predilection for park dwelling time and my need to supervise Elizabeth during the day and make sure she doesn’t work too hard (or at all). Maria is hoping for a bigger kitchen but she is under a sad illusion if she thinks she will be able to use it. (Elizabeth has a bigger kitchen but its functionality is generally limited owing to the presence of a fully stretched out Hound in the middle of it). Of course a bigger kitchen might mean more baked goods for me so perhaps not such a foolish idea.
Anyway, that’s it for this week. Am hoping for a cold wave.

Until next time,

Wimsey, The Air Conditioned One


The Thundering Herd said...

We find letting the humans actually cook (not like it happens much) can be quite rewarding if you are strategically placed in the kitchen (I.e., in tripping range).

Bentley said...

Oh, your travels sound interesting.

My humans agree that there are too many restrictions on canines. They'd prefer an RV to rent, but, oddly, same as a hotel, there's always a restriction.

If they find one, is there camping in Central Park? No? I suppose not. *sigh* I may never get a taste of gelato!


Lola said...

I bet humans are more destructive in hotels than Hounds on the whole. Whatver else they get up to, Hounds rarely get drunk, for instance. Tipsy maybe, but no more than that.

Do you ever do the traditional Manhattanite thing and go out to the Hamptons in the summer? Because I think they could use a little slobber and drool out there. It's gotten quite out of paw with the celebs and things and could use a humbling influence. I think a Hound could only help.

wags, Lola