Thursday, March 31, 2011

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #207

Entry #207

April 1, 2011

Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you from the Élyseé Palace in Paris where I have just slimed President Sarkozy, ruined his wife’s Chanel and absconded with a presidential baguette. April Fool! I guess you could see that one coming. Of course I did consider announcing that I’d won an AKC obedience title but I thought that would be even more obvious an April Fool’s Day joke. But if I were in Paris, instead of on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, I would not be saying April Fool but Poisson d’Avril (April Fish) which I never quite understood. But then the whole holiday is foolish by nature making it an ideal holiday for some serious Hound hijinks. My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth needn’t worry that I will make fools of them today—at least not any more than usual. For Hounds every day is April Fool’s Day as far as our humans are concerned. And as far as the poisson part is concerned I do smell quite fishy these days as I continue to eat Holistic Select anchovy, albeit laced with grated imported Pecorino Romano cheese, so I guess I smell like an Italian fish.

Well it has been an exciting week here in New York City, what with the Bronx Zoo managing to lose a poisonous Egyptian Cobra (a tweeting one, no less) and all. Of course the zoo officials were very comforting telling the snake fearing public:

1. The snake can’t possibly get out of the reptile house (I bet a week ago they said the same thing about it getting out of its enclosure)

2. It’s a nice, young snake so it is only a mere 20 inches long.

3. It’s shy

4. It won’t bite unless you annoy it (like by trying to get it out of your house, for instance).

Anyway, if there were a Hound loose in the city I am sure the authorities would be equally reassuring:

1. Don’t worry, he won’t steal your food unless you take it out of the refrigerator.

2. He can’t put holes in your underpants if you are actually wearing them.

3. By the time he is done eating your couch we will arrive to capture him.

4. If you annoy him he will just throw spit in your face---it’s not venomous, just disgusting.

5. The stink he leaves on your clothes can be removed by dry cleaning and strong laundry soap.

6. Your neighbors will think all that stuff on your walls is art.

7. Things can always be replaced.

8. He’s very cute.

Well it all ended happily (at least for the residents of the Bronx) when the snake

was lured out of hiding by the liberal application of rodent shavings (rodents, yum) which made me wonder whether the snake exclaimed “I smell a rat” when captured. Just a little Hound humor.

But seriously what do you think would happen if a Hound were to get loose in New York City?

A Special CNN Report: New York City in Peril-- the Hunt for the Hound

Wolf Blitzer: Good afternoon, I’m Wolf Blitzer. Thanks for joining us on this CNN special report, New York City in Peril. Now to bring you up to date is my colleague Anderson Cooper. What do we know Anderson?

Anderson Cooper: Well Wolf, at apparently 12:05pm this afternoon, Wimsey, a giant, ferocious gelato-eating Hound escaped from his human in Central Park.

WB: How could this have happened Anderson and is he really so ferocious? How concerned should we be?

AC: Well Wimsey’s technically only ferocious if you’re a squirrel but the word ferocious is much more likely to get us better ratings than calling him a giant, adorable gelato eating Hound. But New Yorkers should be very concerned—although not necessarily ill intended, his destructive powers are legendary and few in the City carry Hound insurance.

WB: OK, but how could this have happened. Surely he is always restrained.

AC: Well normally yes, Wolf. But today at actually 12:07 we now understand, he slipped out of his no pull harness and took off into the Ramble after a raccoon.

WB: Wait, did you say a no-pull harness? But aren’t no pull harnesses an urban legend?

AC: Actually when applied to giant Hounds, yes, they are right up there with the Loch Ness Monster and the Lost Continent of Atlantis but it doesn’t stop people from searching for them and buying things claiming to be real. People want to believe, Wolf.

WB: Well what’s the City doing about the situation Anderson?

AC: We are told that the City is taking this very seriously indeed—they’ve even asked Mayor Bloomberg to fly back from Bermuda!

WB: Wow, This is really serious. But what steps are being taken to protect the citizens of New York?

AC: As of 12:10 city officials have ordered the closing of all gelato shops and pizza parlors and I understand the order is to include frozen yoghurt stands as well just to be on the safe side.

WB: But what can people do to protect themselves Anderson?

AC: The city has asked everyone to refrain from wearing expensive clothing, as such clothing is well known to attract drool flinging. At this moment we understand that the entire Wall Street area is flooded with bankers and lawyers wearing Dockers.

WB: Sounds absolutely horrifying Anderson. Have you seen the backsides on some of those guys. Khaki is not their friend. We should get a camera crew down there to survey the sartorial carnage immediately! But what else?

AC: Additionally we understand the city is asking its citizens not, I repeat, not, to carry plastic bottles of any kind. Wimsey’s proclivity for launching himself at passersby to obtain them is well documented. Also if anyone hears any suspicious baying they are to call the special 24-hour police hot line: 1800 LOUD HOUND. Even if you think it just might be a beagle, they’re telling us if you hear something say something.

WB: This is serious Anderson. Is there to be any military action? We can’t have a successful CNN special report without military action!

AC: Well we understand that citizens who request them are being issued with plastic military shields to protect against drool attacks and the police commissioner has requested a predator drone to see if they can home in on the Hound’s location. But’s it’s tough—he might be under a bush having a nap for all we know.

WB: But what’s the plan Anderson?

AC: As of this moment things are in a state of flux Wolf. But we do understand that specially trained police units are ringing the park armed with slabs of liver. They’re just hoping that Wimsey hasn’t taken any tourists hostage.

WB: Yes, Anderson, I understand that Wimsey has a mesmerizing effect on tourists and once he’s got them they can’t seem to tear themselves away from him and they do anything he wants. They turn over their food and water bottles to him and scratch his belly no matter how long it’s been since his last bath! It’s a frightening psychological condition. Kind of brain washing meets the Stockholm Syndrome.

AC: There are deprogrammers on call to deal with that situation should it occur.

WB: But isn’t it true Anderson that we are dealing with an enemy who really can’t be defeated. What’s his secret Anderson.

AC: He’s apparently very cute.

Well anyway the zoo officials have a bit of egg of their faces, which I suppose is preferable to having deadly asp venom on one’s face, but let’s hope that they are a bit more vigilant with respect to the securing of potentially lethal species. I mean I think if it had been monkey or a chimp that escaped people would have been inviting it over for tea and banana bread. But snakes have it tough—not only are they not cute like Hounds (except to their mothers and herpetologists) but they are also potentially deadly when riled up. And then there is the whole Garden of Eden thing which got me thinking that things might have been different if I had been around back then:

The serpent may have offered the apple to Eve but she wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting near it with a Hound around.

The fact that Adam and Eve had no clothes would have an entirely different explanation.

Adam and Eve would be too busy fixing all the holes in the Garden to be thinking about eating fruit or chatting with serpents.

All the animals would have been called Wimsey.

But anyway, let’s hope the next zoo animal that escapes is a bit more congenial, although escaped poisonous snakes are pretty exciting and it takes a lot to get New Yorkers excited. And speaking of exciting I managed to crash yet another TV shoot—this time for White Collar who were filming in Central Park by the lakeside structure known Ladies Pavilion. (Since I like

hanging out there I like to think of it as the Hound’s Pavilion). Last time I crashed a White Collar shoot they were filming their first episode and the star, Matt Bomer, came running across the Bethesda Terrace to say hello to me. Sadly, this time I missed Matt but scored some petting from his co-star Tim DeKay (Agent Peter Burke) and of course the crew made a big fuss over me as crews usually do. Also sadly, they had finished filming their scene so I was unable to add some vocal color to the proceedings. But I was at least able to entertain the crew with some fine auditory offerings which they seemed to appreciate very much.

In general film crews seem to be quite attentive and a crew member queried about this opined that it’s because dogs are always nice and the people around them aren’t. What can I say, one person’s nice (the crew member) is another person’s annoying (my humans). But at least when I yell I entertain people (or at least those I don’t terrify).

Well I think that’s all for this week. Time to make fools of my humans (again).

Until next time,

Wimsey, a fool and her Hound are inseparable

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #206

Entry # 206

March 25, 2011

Hello everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where we have been having foul weather and fair in equal measure and some spring defying chilly temperatures. All these climactic challenges have put a strain on my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth who always seem to be overdressed or underdressed and the daily complaint about layer count or lack thereof becomes a thing of high drama. You would have thought that the fate of

small nations depended upon them being comfortable but the reality is that no one cares-- especially not me. Fortunately as a Hound my coat serves for a wide range of weather conditions-- although my raincoat has been making a bit of an appearance lately. My coat (the natural one, not the raincoat) has some interesting properties too, which like all things Hound continues to bedevil my humans. They sometimes wonder about the strange laws of the Hound:

Laws of the Hound

Submitted for your approval:

A Hound who has been in the rain never seems to get dry but a Hound who has been in the bathtub never seems to get wet.

Humans who wear dark clothes display light colored Hound hairs but humans who wear light clothes display dark colored Hound hairs. (This leads to the hypothesis that Hounds have color-directed smart hairs which would be the only smart things about us).

The degree to which a Hound stinks is directly proportional to how little time you have in your schedule to bath him.

Bathing a Hound causes an extended period of inclement and muddy weather.

Taking the Hound to the vet immediately cures him of whatever condition it was that led you to make the appointment in the first place.

Part of whatever a Hound has eaten in the last 24 hours will find its way under your bed sheets.

The presence of humans in expensive (preferably designer), light colored clothing dramatically increases the salivary rate of the Hound.

Your need to use the toilet is directly proportional to a Hound’s need to observe you using the toilet.

The more expensive the toy the faster the Hound will destroy it.

The more slippery the conditions the harder the Hound will pull.

The nicer the clothes you are wearing the more affectionate the Hound will be.

The more tired you are the louder the Hound will snore

The worse the weather the longer it will take the Hound to find a spot to poop

The more attractive the plant the greater a Hound’s desire to dig it up or use it as a toilet.

The more you earn the more the Hound will spend.

And of course none of this takes into account our telepathic ability that lets us know when you are about to go into the kitchen to fix something to eat (leading us to be omnipresent) or when you are instead about to undertake some cruel and unusual activity such as cleaning our ears (leading us to be Omni absent). Of course I am an especially talented Hound so in addition to finding kibble under her sheets Elizabeth also finds it in her refrigerator. What can I say—Kibble: It’s Everywhere I Want To Be. Now that’s a catchy slogan. I am sure that I can think of a few more of those:

Wimsey’s Advertising Slogans

Diamonds Are Forever and So Are My Walks

Just Do It. I Know I Always Do No Matter How Much You Try to Stop Me

Tastes Great, Less Filing So I Can Steal and Gobble Even More of It

We Try Harder Than Other Breeds to Put You in the Hospital

Good to the Last Drop and All You Have to Do is Flush to Get More

Breakfast Of Champions but Dinner of Wimps Whose Hound Stole Their Dinner

Does She or Doesn’t She Worship Her Hound. She Does.

When It Rains It Pours and When It Pours Your Home Will Smell Like a Disgusting Wet Hound

Where’s the Beef, I Only See Vile Kibble in My Bowl

Look Ma, No Cavities Just Giant Holes Where the Flower Beds Used To Be

Hounds, Like GE, We Bring Expensive Things to Life

Reach Out and Rub My Belly

Think Different (like without adverbs for instance) Before Trying to Enroll Me In That Obedience Class

Snap, Crackle Pop and The Remote is Gone Just Like That

Because I’m Worth It and You’re Not

When It Absolutely Positively Has To Be There Overnight Don’t Let Me Near It

Hello Moto. Goodbye Moto. You Were Delicious

I’m Everywhere You Don’t Want Me To Be

I Make Money the Old Fashioned Way, I Send You Out to Work

How Do You Spell Relief? C-R-A-T-E

The Ultimate Towing Machine

This Drool’s For You

I Love to be Annoying and It Shows

Let Your Fingers Do the Walking, Your Feet Certainly Won’t Be Able To When I’m Done Towing You Through the Park

Your Bucket of KFC Was Flew Lickin’ Good

A Different Kind of Company, A Different Kind of Car. But Sadly the Same Upholstery Eating Hound

Frosted Flakes May Be Grrrrreat but Hounds are Terrrrrible

It’s Miller (Tanqueray) Time

Between Love and Madness There Is a Hound

Foster’s: Australian for Beer. Wimsey: American for ‘Oh No!”

Nothing Runs Like A Deere Except a Human Chasing A Hound Who Has Just Stolen A Used Sanitary Napkin

Really I think I could give that Don Draper fellow in Mad Men a run for his money—I too am handsome, like to eat rare steak, and goose women, take naps during the day on my couch and appear to do very little work whilst enjoying a luxurious lifestyle. Sterling, Cooper and Wimsey has a nice ring to it.

Anyway, as many of you know, March 19th was my birthday which meant a celebratory weekend around here. On Saturday I was given a couple of pieces of Dean’s pizza (my favorite) for dinner and then on Sunday we had a fine walk in Central Park where many people wished me a happy birthday, scratched me and took my picture. We then all went shopping on Broadway—I love shopping but sadly my shopaholic efforts to tow my humans to the nearest pet store were resisted. But as compensation I was invited into the

waiting area at Bed Bath & Beyond by a Hound- loving security guard and met some really nice people (i.e. people who are interested in me) and was holding court while Maria finished her shopping. And so it went all up and down Broadway—a regular Wimsey Admiration Fest it was.

But we finally arrived at our most important destination, Grom Gelato. Now you have heard me speak many times about the excellent nature of this gelato and its superiority to mere ice cream (which I will eat, but not nearly with the same gusto). But nothing in life is perfect and the lines at Grom tend to be long and the service tends to be slow, both of which make me quite impatient. And when I am impatient I like to think that a bout of loud, extended baying is a good way to hurry things along. So whilst Elizabeth was waiting in line to buy me my cup of gelato I regaled the surrounding neighborhood with my vocal stylings. The man waiting next to Elizabeth was under the misguided impression that my vocalizations were in aid of getting her to come back to me (and probably they would have been were I a regular dog short a human). But she quickly disabused him of the notion. “No”, she sighed, “he doesn’t care about me. He wants his gelato.

Well really, there is nothing quite as delicious and satisfying and attention getting as being spoon fed Grom Gelato. My delicate eating style is much admired and I am sure that the large pool of gelato infused drool that I produce is a fine testament to the desirable nature of the product. I am sure it makes passersby want to race right in and buy some for themselves. Perhaps I could expand my career as a spokes Hound. I already serve in that capacity for Baying Hound Aleworks ( --I would like to say that there’s a little of me in every bottle but I don’t think the owner of the brewery or the Board of Health would appreciate the sentiment). Perhaps I could do a stint with Grom Gelato also. I mean I could bring a whole new intensity to the phrase “mouth watering."

Well another week, another kibble. The latest attempt to satisfy the demanding Wimsey palate and the delicate Wimsey intestines was contributed by our good friends of The Thundering Herd ( whose favorite kibble, Holistic Select Anchovy I am now sampling. So far it does seem to be less repugnant than the others, but then again it is being garnished with grated imported Pecorino Romano and assorted add-ins. The best thing about it, however, is that it lends a delightfully fishy air to both my humans’ apartments so it is probably a keeper on those grounds alone.

Anyway, I think I will leave it there for the week—I mean it’s been a whole few hours since I last annoyed whichever human I happen to be around so they are way overdue.

Until next time,

Wimsey, looks like a Hound, smells like a fish

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #205

Entry # 205

March 18, 2011

Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where there has been much celebrating to do and much work for my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth. Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day and as is my wont I went over to the parade which is visible from Central Park. Needless to say, I caused quite a stir in my Hibernian Hound finery and there was much picture taking, petting and general admiration of yours truly. Unfortunately Elizabeth’s camera ate the last 36 pictures she took (clearly I am having an influence even on inanimate objects) so the only picture is the one she took from her phone for posting on Twitter.

And owing to all the picture munching a lot of this week’s photos come once again from the new (ish) southern part of Riverside Park that has a rather post industrial Mad Max meets Fire Island feel to it. The park was originally the New York Central railroad yards and the designers elected to leave much of the decaying industrial infrastructure intact as a kind of apocalyptic sculpture and married it with wooden walkways, marsh grasses and interesting places to sit or picnic. I of course like it very much because of the air currents coming directly off the Hudson and the fact that the neighborhood’s considerable dog population leaves abundant evidence of its existence in the manifold of scent trails to be followed. During the winter months it is quite deserted which adds to the eerie feeling that one is in some futuristic movie where everyone has been wiped out except a woman and her large, annoying Hound. Unfortunately I don’t get to spend

much time down there during the summer because the absence of trees, while adding to the Spartan design aesthetic, makes the place seriously uncomfortable for all but the most dedicated tanners (and I always have a surfeit of tan which is especially evident when my humans wear black).

Anyway, on Monday afternoon I was actually left alone again and given the fact that the last time Elizabeth left me alone I ate some of her books, she took precautions. Anything that she was desperately fond of or needed to use she tucked away (in a most unsporting fashion) in her closet. But since she expected me to be destructive, naturally I was not so all her packing and unpacking was just so much wasted effort. Without the element of surprise destruction loses a major part of its appeal, don’t you think? And as a matter of policy I always do the unexpected. —the shrieks are louder that way.

But she was to be forgiven for her absence because she was seeing her lawyer to make provisions for me in her will lest she peg our prematurely. Although Maria is my primary human, Elizabeth likes to contribute to my high maintenance lifestyle so her financial absence would put a serious crimp in my enjoyment of the high life. Probably she spends her money on me because I give her so much joy. Or on second thought maybe she’s just eccentric. Well the lawyer visit led to a discussion of various scenarios that could befall me and the devising of plans to cover all contingencies. So once again I managed to dominate the proceedings of my humans’ lives which is all very satisfactory. But what is more satisfactory is that, although as a beneficiary of Elizabeth’s will I cannot be a witness, I am to be present at the signing. I’ve never actually eaten a will before but perhaps I will be permitted a small taste (say the unimportant bits which don’t have to do with me).

And tomorrow is my birthday which is always cause for the intensification of Wimsey Worship. As ever, our own brand of March Madness occurs around here as my humans scratch their heads for ideas of what they could possibly do for me that they don’t already do (I understand that a package is on its way from my grandmother and I am betting there will some of my favorite cookies ((the human kind)) involved). Since my humans lack imagination tomorrow’s table de hôte will include a cup of Grom Gelato and several slices of Dean’s pizza and no doubt much walking and scratching of me. But of course every day includes much walking and scratching of me.

I wish I could report that there were a lot of famous people who were born on March 19 but really there is pretty much Glenn Close (we both have a taste for stewed rabbit) Bruce Willis (he blows things up I chew things up) and Wyatt Earp (we both enforce the law). However, I guess the March 19th prize would have to go to explorer David Livingstone who said, “I am prepared to go anywhere provided it be forward”. Of course I will actually go backwards as long as my humans want to go forwards but then that becomes the new forward.

But here in honor of the real March Madness for you college basketball fans, is my interpretation of various terms of the game:

Alive: an object is said to be alive when I have it in my mouth and you want it.

Dead: an object is said to be dead when either 1) I have destroyed it—preferably whilst you are watching—or 2) you have lost interest in it and therefore I have too (generally accompanied by the phrase “oh let him have it”)

Alternating possession rule: I let you have something I have stolen lulling you into a false sense of security so I can relive the excitement of stealing it again.

Assist: This is a helpful activity in which I frequently engage, particularly when you are trying to cook or use the toilet.

Bank shot: this is what I do to my favorite wall at TD bank.

Ball handler: this is the human who has removed a ball from my juicy flews. They quickly become the ball unhandler and go in search of a towel.

Beat the defender: this is a play whereby whatever it is you don’t want me to have (i.e. the Sunday roast cooling on the counter) I get.

Blocking: This is a popular maneuver I employ when you are trying to watch TV, use the remote control or view the computer screen

Boosters: These are people on the street who encourage whatever behavior I exhibit that most embarrasses you.

Charging: a rapid-fire maneuver that gets me where I want to go and where you don’t want to go.

Crossover Dribble: This is when the contents of my mouth end up on you, your clothes, your possessions, your walls and unsuspecting passersby.

Defense: A strategy that ensures that what was yours and is now mine, stays mine.

Double Team: This is when one Hound distracts you with potentially bad behavior whilst a second Hound engages in actually bad behavior.

Dream Team: The Hound Group (also known as the Nightmare Team depending on your point of view)

Dribble series: this occurs when while you are occupied cleaning your hands and you have left your hair and clothes wide open to be slimed.

Drive to the basket: A forceful maneuver to acquire yesterday’s dirty underwear.

Elbowing: this describes the magnetic attraction between a lap sitting Hound’s elbow and your internal organs.

Established position: The couch

Fast break: a fine maneuver whereby a casually strolling Hound suddenly and decisively acts to remove your lunch from your plate.

Field Goal: A hell bent for leather Hound who spots a squirrel across a field. Scoring occurs by capturing the squirrel (a rare occurrence) or by pulling you over into the mud (a not so rare occurrence)

Flagrant Foul: the product of a Hound’s intestinal apparatus after one piece of cheese too many.

Personal foul: same as above but conducted while sleeping in the bed with you.

Floor violation: This occurs when you go flying in the middle of the night because I have positioned myself between your bed and the bathroom.

4 point play: A body slam followed by stealing and then eating an illicit substance with ensuing intestinal consequences.

Free Agent: another name for a Hound

Full court press: A Hound approaching a heavily laden Thanksgiving Day Table

Guarding: another variation of “what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine”

High percentage shot: A toddler with an ice cream cone.

Inside shooting: an accident involving the leg of your antique table (if you’re lucky) or the leg of your antique guest (if you’re not).

Jump Ball: Both you and a Hound aspire to the same sandwich at the same time.

Keep Away Game: A favorite Houndly sport whereby we taunt out humans with our ill gotten gains knowing that they haven’t a hope in hell of recovering whatever it is that we’ve stolen.

Layup: (also called a lay down) a situation whereby a Hound has pinned a human to the couch and refuses to budge until he is scratched.

Low post: mail that has inadvertently been left on the floor for the Hound’s culinary pleasure.

Man-to- man defense (or woman to woman defense): the situation that arises when two humans argue about who is at fault for leaving the Hound unattended long enough for him to have eaten the couch.

March Madness: my humans trying to figure out what to do for my birthday.

Off the dribble: a Hound with impaired salivary glands.

Offense: A Hound who consistently refuses to bathe.

Out of Bounds: a concept that is alien to Hounds that certain activities are not permitted

Over the limit: the all too frequent situation that results from the confluence of a Hound, a human and a gin bottle.

Overtime: the working hours of a human who has a Hound to support.

Perimeter: The place in the yard marked by the fence that must be breached.

Picked off: describes what humans attempt to do to all the miscellaneous hair and vegetable matter sticking to their clothing.

Pick up games: Trying to vacuum whilst a Hound tries to slay the offending dirt sucker.

Playmaker: My activities involving loud squeaky toys that urgently call for my attention when you are on the phone or trying to sleep.

Possession: 10/10 of the Law of the Hound.

Rebound: when the ball that I demand that you throw for me bounces off the wall and smashes your favorite lamp.

Receiver: A Hound. We are in receipt of all things except a knowledge of obedience commands.

Rookie: A young Hound who has not yet learned that he can do anything he wants because he is very cute.

Slam dunk: The satisfying sound of a large Hound head diving into the toilet bowl whose lid has been conveniently left up.

Swing Man: the Hound who has become adept at moving forward and then suddenly swinging his large rump into the path of an oncoming human causing said human to trip over him.

Timeout: A period of time when a Hound is exiled to his crate so his humans can clean up or repair the damage of the day.

Traveling: the natural condition of the Hound who must be in motion for the better part of the day otherwise you will have many fewer possessions than you currently have.

Turnover: The manner in which a Hound informs his humans that it is time to rub his belly.

Zone defense: A maneuver in which a Hound seems to miraculously read the mind of his humans to determine on which piece of furniture they care to sit and then sequentially occupies all of them.

Well I think those rules sound a lot better than the ones that currently exist proving that even March Madness has a houndish component. Sadly I could find nothing that describes my March propensity to seek out and poop in the middle of the growing clumps of flowers that appear to be sprouting everywhere. In addition to finding poop hard to scrape off flowers my humans feel that poop somehow ruins the aesthetics of the blooms and so one of our best loved spring battles has been joined.

Anyway, I think I will leave you here for now. Hope you all find many spring gardens to fertilize.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Mad as a March Hound