August 13, 2010
Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the summer heat and humidity are hanging on with the tenacity of a Hound with the stolen Sunday roast. And it is Friday 13th today to boot! I always expect good luck to come to me on these days since as a Hound I specialize in all things oppositional and contrarian.
Well the big news around here is that my human Maria, assisted by her friend Elizabeth has been scouring the neighborhood for a new apartment. Things are not going well owing to the ridiculous prices and lack of inventory. Also, apparently the presence of a large Hound is not considered an attractive attribute by landlords. This has led the ladies to put together a landlord photo montage of me acting charming and looking cute, which is to say it’s just a regular a photo montage of me as I am seldom looking anything but charming and cute. And my show dog credentials are being touted as people seem to feel that show dogs are some vastly superior type of dog, possessing none of the inconvenient habits of those lesser non-show dog canines. Personally it is a great source of satisfaction to me that my humans have to laud my sterling qualities and insist on the fact that I am extremely well behaved. Fortunately no one ever asks for a precise definition of well behaved.
During my recent road trip I amazed and astonished the world with this supposed well behaved-ness puzzling my humans until they realized that of course I was well behaved—no one told me I couldn’t do anything that I wanted to do. Mystery solved. And with respect to all things that matter to the outside world—house soiling and indoor baying for instance—I am exceedingly well behaved. However, with respect to all things that matter to those who have to live with me I am most decidedly not. After all, it doesn’t bother the neighbors when I stick my nose in people’s food or fling drool in my human’s faces or snuffle them in the middle of the night with a wet muzzle or strongly insist that whichever way they want to walk I want to walk the opposite way, etc., etc. and more etc. (my fine Houndly attributes being too numerous to list).
Well if things don’t pick up on the real estate front the ladies are thinking of launching a contest to Find Maria and Wimsey a New Home with a generous cash prize and photos in this blog. Elizabeth, a former Wall Street denizen is of the Gordon Gekko-esque opinion that “greed is good when harnessed to find a suitable place for a Hound to live.”
And speaking of picking up, I realized last week that I omitted to discuss the crucial last step of my road trip—the de-Hounding of the rental car. Now my humans pride themselves on their ability to eradicate all traces of me from borrowed vehicles, so for those of you out there with similar issues, here is what they do:
1) use many rolls of wide clear exceedingly sticky packing tape to pick up hair from car interior
2) use a stiff suede brush and/or Resolve to remove drool stains from upholstery (the ladies long for cars upholstered in drool resistant Plether, but so far no luck)
3) remove drool stains from non-upholstered surfaces with Simple Green, Windex or similar
4) Go over car with hand held vacuum
6) Consume a large cocktail. (It's astonishing how many activities involving me require the consuming of a large cocktail).
Of course it does help that my humans also drape the interior of the car with sheets, which in addition to keeping at least some Hound hair at bay, provides a nice, soft surface for the delicate Wimsey posterior.
Anyway, questions of real estate have proven so all consuming that I barely have had any time to catch up on the news. But I, like everyone else in the world, did read about the Jet Blue flight attendant who quit his job in a rather spectacular fashion. It made me think about:
The Jet Blue Invitational Dog Show
Judge: You in the butt ugly green clothes with the big t***. Don’t keep me the f*** waiting. Bring that big black and tan s**-o*-*-b**** over here.
Elizabeth: You do realize that calling Wimsey a son-of-a bitch is not an insult right?
Judge: None of your f****** lip b****. And speaking of lip where the f*** is your drool rag?! The son of a bitch slimed me!
Elizabeth: Sorry about that but Wimsey can produce a pint of drool in a nanosecond. It’s one of his many special talents.
Judge: Well clearly keeping his f****** feet in one place is not. He’s a piece of s*** as a show dog.
Elizabeth: I wouldn’t say those words too loudly—Wimsey might provide a visual demonstration. Drool is not the only thing he has a prodigious capacity to produce.
Judge: Yeah, well if he does that I’m gonna f****** excuse his a**. Not a bad looking Hound though. I like a dog with f****** big b*******!
Elizabeth: What are bollocks?
Judge: Sorry. I’ve been judging at Crufts too long. In America they’re b****.
Elizabeth: Yes, they are much admired. Too bad points aren’t awarded for nice ones. I’m sure Wimsey’s could win Westminster with them.
.Judge: What the f*** is the big b****** doing that for!
Elizabeth: He always bays his approbation when people admire his testicles.
Elizabeth: Let’s go Wimsey!
Judge: What the f*** kind of a gait do you call that!
Elizabeth: We call it the trop—kind of a combination of a trot and a pace. I’m afraid it’s the closest thing to a trot that he does. I could get him to gallop if you like.
Judge: Shut the f*** up! I don’t want hear or see any more of these f****** Hounds! You can take this s***** job and shove it up you’re a**! I’m outta here. I’m gonna go get a stiff drink and then judge some f****** obedient Golden Retrievers.
Elizabeth: Wimsey, how many times have I told you, p****** on the judge’s leg is not polite!
Well, you get the idea. Of course, I too have a foul mouth—it’s just that it’s filled with slime and miscellaneous organic matter instead of curses. Well I think that’s all for this week—the heat and humidity mean that I spend far more time indoors than I would like so I am fervently hoping that cooler more Hound friendly weather is on the way. Also that a new apartment is found so that Elizabeth stops leaving me alone in the afternoons---napping is just not the same without someone admiring me whilst I sleep.
Until next time,