Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #194

December 24, 2010

Entry #194

Hello Everyone—Happy Christmas Eve—it’s me Wimsey, the Upper West Side of Manhattan’s most festive Hound—coming to you in my traditional Santa hat. As I have related many times, this picture (which gets quite a few Google hits, by the way) took so long for my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth to obtain that they re-use it every year as the they have little desire to revisit the trauma of the experience. Of course, putting a Santa hat on a Hound is the height of irony since we’re the ones who sit on people’s laps and demand presents (irrespective of whether we have been naughty or nice as we can seldom lay claim to the latter) but the incongruity seems to be lost on my humans.

However, this year, feeling in need of creating further Wimsey embarrassing hat experiences, and feeling remiss in their holiday duties to annoy me and entertain themselves, they have purchased not one, but two pairs of antlers for me to model. The purchase of the two pair were the result of a great debate that took place at Petco as to whether the brown antlers, which look

natural given my coat color (if you can call the blinking red lights natural) and therefore would be more humorous are a better choice than the red and green ones

which might have considerably more éclat. Maria felt the green and red ones were a lot of look but Elizabeth felt that they made a statement. So as is ever the case when women can’t decide what to buy, they bought both. Now you can be the judge of which pair is preferable. I vote for making them both chew toys.

Well it has been a lively week around here—we have had excellent Hounding weather—mid 30s-- which means that getting me in from the park has proven even more challenging than usual. And on Sunday, I finally found a chew stick large enough for a Hound of my majestic proportions. The

fact that it happened to be still actually attached to a tree was a tad inconvenient with respect to portability but I suppose that having a tree in one’s apartment is not especially practical. Of course having a giant Hound in one’s apartment is not practical either, but then I am a whole lot cuter than a tree.

Anyway, I did recover from my disappointment enough to serenade visitors to the Metropolitan Museum of Art—it is always my pleasure to contribute to New York’s cultural landscape and to impress upon visitors the vibrant and dynamic nature of life in the big city—a place where an innocent visit to an art museum could result in permanent auditory damage.

the holidays are always a wonderful season to visit New York (you might even see a bloodhound in antlers in the park) and the seasonal exchange of gifts makes it especially pleasurable. I already received a large bully stick (not shown as it vanished with astonishing speed down my ample gullet) and a delightful stuffed reindeer.

And naturally there are Christmas carols playing everywhere, such as:

Jingle Bells

Dashing through the snow, with one Hound on a long leash

Over the fields we go shrieking all the way

Baying through the air, making people deaf

What fun it is to be towed across the snowy streets today!

Towing Hound, towing Hound, towing all the way

What fun it is to be towed across the snowy streets today!

And

Silver Bells

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks (occupied by Hounds looking for chicken bones and other urban delicacies)

Dressed in holiday style (with Hounds in brightly colored fancy coats that they try to chew up every time they’re put on)

In the air (redolent of smelly Hound)

There’s a feeling

Of Christmas (and also of flying drool).

Children laughing (at the poor sap being dragged by the Hound)

People passing (rude remarks after getting shoved off the street by the giant Hound)

Meeting smiles after smile (of people grateful that the Hound is with you and not them)

And on every street corner you’ll hear:

Ahroo, Ahroo, Ahroo

It’s Christmas time in the City

Here me sing and make people deaf

Soon it will be Christmas Day (and time for my presents!)

Well you get the idea. And in keeping with another tradition around here, please find a reprise of my Twas the Night Before Christmas (and for the first time, it actually is the night before Christmas!


Wimsey’s Night before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a Hound.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there before the Hound could shred them.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Hounds danced in their heads.

And mamma in her shredded ‘kerchief, and I in my chewed up cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap with the Hound.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what the Hound had gotten into now.

Away to the window I flew—stepping over the Hound-- like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen yellow snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer being chased by a Hound.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick (he had to be to get away from the Hound),

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than Hounds his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Wimsey and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall where the Hound can’t get to us!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As peed on leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew away from the Hound,

With the sleigh full of rawhides, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof and a lot of loud baying.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a Hound.

He was dressed all in fur (The Hound thought he was a stuffed toy), from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot and drool.

A bundle of rawhides he had flung on his back trying to keep it from the Hound,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled as he looked at the Hound! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as yellow as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth to keep the Hound from stealing it,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed at the Hound, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself and the fact that the Hound had stolen his hat!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread (I live with a Hound, what more is there to dread).

He spoke not a word—he was speechless--, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk as the Hound poked him in the tush.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose as the Hound chased him!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, let’s get away from that giant smelly dog

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle after a Hound has sneezed on it.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to the Hound a good-night!" (and good riddance!)

So a Happy Christmas to you all as well. And let’s all come together to ban these heinous antlers once and for all!

Until next time,

Wimsey, a reindeer not!