Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #192

Entry #192

December 10, 2010

Hello Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey the Wonderful coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the Christmas season is starting to gather steam and where it now takes two people to prevent me from utilizing the rows of Christmas trees in the manner that nature (and Hounds) intended. Every year my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth undergo trial by Christmas tree owing to the rows of them that line the streets of the neighborhood. Needless to say, the Wimsey Household (as well as Elizabeth’s, which I consider my secondary residence) are devoid of any signs of cheer lest they come to bad ends.

But of course, I am well aware of the season and the minute those appealing Christmas trees arrive on the street I appear to turn to stone in front of pet stores, where it’s all “It’s Christmas, Wimsey wants a present. Isn’t that sweet.” But the Yuletide season does sometimes bring with it another less desirable consequence. Yesterday I was fleeced! Yes, my eye catching chartreuse fleece made its appearance again much to my consternation and dismay. Of course, on the plus side, it is one more piece of equipment into which I have to be bribed and it does make me even harder to ignore. Yesterday some poor lady on the corner was trying to have a conversation on her cell phone whilst I was baying for the light to change whereupon she discovered that, owing to the acoustical properties of my baying, she was unable to evade the sound whichever way she turned or moved. But she did smile because whereas a loud, baying Hound is a nuisance, a loud baying Hound wearing a chartreuse coat is charming.

Anyway, I have been putting in my park time and discovered a snack shop near the ball that features a $6 bratwurst and beer lunch. And with that uncanny power I have to read the minds of my humans I know that Elizabeth was thinking, beer for her, bratwurst for me, and I comported myself accordingly. Getting a large determined Hound who wishes to be fed a bratwurst to move is not a feat easily accomplished as Elizabeth found out on the several occasions when our route just happened to take us in that direction--just like when our routes just happen to take us in the direction of the pet stores, Grom Gelato and the streets with rows of Christmas trees.

I did also discover a new mime in the park that, sadly, I was prevented from getting to know better. Park mimes are not supposed to move unless you give them some money but I know I can get them to move without spending a cent (a cold nose up the rear having a salutary effect in this regard). My humans know it too which is why this is as close as I am every permitted to get to a mime.

Anyway as we know the holiday season brings with it much traveling (although not for my humans as traveling entails the renting of large, expensive vehicles in which I will fit comfortably) and the security practices at the airport have been much in the news lately. But it seems to me that there is another solution to the problem so I think it is time for an episode of:

Wimsey, TSA Inspector

TSA employee: Welcome to the exciting world of the TSA where your privates are public and we search your junk for treasure. Today we offer you three fabulous security options.

Traveler: OK, what are my choices, other than to walk, drive or take the train, none of which is looking too bad these days.

TSA employee: But first I have to read you your rights.

Traveler: What rights?

TSA employee: Exactly. You don’t have any. So let’s discuss your options:

first you can go through our special X-ray machine whereby you remove your belt and the contents of your pockets and hold your hands in the air like the perp we consider you to be until we prove otherwise.

Traveler: But won’t my pants fall down?

TSA employee: Not to worry, the guy manning the x-ray machine is looking at you naked anyway. I told you it was a special machine.

Traveler: That doesn’t sound so appealing. What’s the next option.

TSA employee: Glad you asked. This is our popular enhanced pat down.

Traveler: What does that involve?

TSA employee: Well you know that stuff you used to do in back seats of cars when you were a teenager? It’s a lot like that, only with latex gloves. But don’t worry, no one gets to third base.

Traveler: The train is looking pretty good right now. So what’s this third way I’ve been hearing so much about?

TSA employee: We’re very excited about our new third option. It’s him!

Traveler: You mean that big smelly dog over there?

TSA employee: Yes! That’s Wimsey, our crack TSA inspection Hound. You just have to let him sniff you.

Traveler: Well he is very cute so how bad can it be?

TSA employee: Oh, you’d be surprised. Let me introduce you. Good, his tail is wagging. If it’s not it’s grounds for a cavity search. He’s very sensitive. Now you need to remove your socks .

Traveler: My socks! Why?

TSA employee: You’ll see.

Traveler: EEEEEEE! He’s licking my toes!

TSA employee: If you screech and hop around like that it only encourages him. Anyway, the theory is that he is sampling your toes for explosive residue, but some of us here think he just likes to do it.

Traveler: OK, well the running his nose up and down my legs isn’t too bad, but he seems to be leaving copious quantities of drool all over my garments!

TSA employee: Yes, that is a side effect of all the olfactory activity, but a good dry cleaner should be able to take care of the mess. I would try not to let his nose contact any exposed skin—he isn’t called Ice Nose for nothing.

Traveler: He seems to he spending an inordinate amount of time sniffing my crotch!

TSA employee: In the current climate his predilection for underpants is of considerable value. But it is probable that your underwear has been imperfectly laundered or else you’ve been wearing them too long and he’s enjoying the ripeness of the odor. I see he’s poking at your pocket. Please remove what’s in there.

Traveler: It’s just a package of nuts.

TSA employee: They could contain dangerous materials. Please hand them over to the Hound.

Traveler: But he’s eating them!

TSA employee: Yes, he heroically consumes all confiscated food items, and some things that are not strictly speaking food items to determine their safety. If he refuses to eat, it’s the cavity search, I’m afraid.

Traveler: Has that ever happened?

TSA employee: Not so far. He’s a Hound. You now have to sit on the floor and let him sniff the rest of you. Just don’t let him try to remove your bra. He likes those and he’ll take off with it. Last week we chased him all the way to baggage claim and it held up the line for even more hours than usual.

Traveler: OK, but why is he nibbling my nose?

TSA employee: He’s not nibbling your nose—he’s sampling it to see if you’ve inhaled any explosive residue. Also he probably likes you.

Traveler: Well he seems to be done. He’s rolling over on his back.

TSA employee: Congratulations that is his sign that you’ve passed the exam.

Traveler: Am I free to go?

TSA employee: Not quite yet. He doesn’t work for just peanuts you know. You have to rub his belly.

Traveler: And if I refuse.

TSA employee: Well there is always the cavity search…

Fortunately as a Hound I am always above suspicion unless something valuable or edible has gone missing. And although I don’t technically work for the TSA, I am well known for protecting the Upper West Side by routinely nose wanding its residents and conducting thorough examinations of their packages. Perhaps that is why I am so popular.

Well the other news this week was that Elizabeth decided to replace both her Blackberry and her personal phone at the same time so now she is in possession of two phones that she doesn’t know how to use. I of course helped with the unwrapping and the set up (I am known for my technological wizardry, like when I go under the desk and disconnect the wireless router and unplug all the cables) and was delighted to see that one of the phones has a touch screen which means that when I bump it with my nose I do more than just leave unsightly secretions—I can actually call people!

Even without my help, Elizabeth managed to accidently call Maria repeatedly but then when Maria called her she couldn’t figure out how to answer the call. The ostensible reason for the fancy phone is that it will allow her to take exceptionally fine pictures of me for posting on Twitter. I think that might have to wait until she learns how to answer it.

Anyway, also this week I met this super Siberian Husky called Taco and playing with him is probably the closest I’ll get to visiting with our friends of the Thundering Herd (www.thunderingherd.com), a blog that Taco’s owner also reads. It’s such a small world where dogs with “personality” are concerned although, Taco’s owner claims that

Taco is actually well behaved. I guess there’s one in every herd.

Well Christmas is still two weeks away but it is never too early for another rendition of my favorite Christmas carol (although the one where people demand a figgy pudding and refuse to leave unless they get one has great emotional resonance for me):

Wimsey’s 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me

Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Seven Hounds a baying, six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the eight day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Eight Hounds a filching, seven Hounds a baying, six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Nine Hounds bed hogging, eight Hounds a filching, seven Hounds a baying, six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Ten Hounds a snoring, nine Hounds bed hogging, eight Hounds a filching, seven Hounds a baying, six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Eleven Hounds flinging drool, ten Hounds a snoring, nine Hounds bed hogging, eight Hounds a filching, seven Hounds a baying, six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me

Twelve Hounds loudly farting, eleven Hounds flinging drool, ten Hounds a snoring, nine Hounds bed hogging, eight Hounds a filching, seven Hounds a baying, six Hounds a digging, five stolen bras, four Basset Hounds, three beagle dogs, two rawhide bones and Wimsey peeing on a pear tree.

On the thirteenth day of Christmas I sent to my true love

A divorce decree.

Well that’s it for this week. Or else it was until I was out in Central Park this afternoon where Jim Carrey happened to be using my park to make a film and I decided to add some unscripted dialog to liven things up. And as happens with most great artists, my efforts were not appreciated.

Anyway, until next time (don’t forget to mention my name at airport security and win a free body cavity search!)

Wimsey, all 12 days of Christmas rolled into one superb Hound