May 6, 2011
Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I am continuing my fun filled recovery from the abdominal surgery that sidelined me nearly three weeks ago. Of course the recovery is fun filled for me but not so much from my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth who must deal with the consequences of a restive, convalescent Hound.
In the first place I have imposed the requirement that the contents of my food bowl be augmented with some combination of boiled chicken breast, boiled top round, steamed yams, canned tuna, scrambled eggs and chicken livers sautéed in butter. (Also, I like the meal to be moistened with the broth from the cooked beef). In fact my humans haunt the aisles of Fairway, our local gourmet food store, looking for items that might tempt the finicky
Wimsey palate. And I am bravely doing my part by not only eating all these concoctions but also by demanding Grom gelato (my gelato bills being second only to my vet bills in their extravagance) and the incessant feeding of cookies and turkey during my walks. The ladies would be happy to lend me some of their extra avoir du poids but alas no mechanism exists for such a transfer. They think there should be an Institute of Hound Metabolism to discover why I lose weight so quickly and put it back so slowly --even in the face of reduced exercise and increased gelato. But it’s just another of those ways in which I am annoying.
And speaking of annoying, next, we come to the issue of cones—my humans have discovered that cones are no match for a determined Hound such as myself. In spite of wearing both a giant hard one and a giant soft one I can still reach virtually any area of my body. This may be why I have a spot on my incision that has still not healed. This required some visits to my regular vet to remove most of my staples and to insert a few stitches. But on today’s visit disaster struck—the vet cleared me for a bath starting next week! The stink situation has gotten so bad that Maria realized whilst having dinner with friend that she was liberally coated with the Eau de Hound scent that I exude in such strong measure.
But on Sunday I finally made my first foray into Central Park since my illness and did a royal walkabout that included posing for innumerable photographs. We met a very nice couple from Australia who insisted on emptying their water bottle into my portable water bowl and then giving me the bottle for my chewing pleasure. But most exciting-- we also met a man from Seward, Alaska who has a bloodhound called Watson who is very probably the littermate of our friend Gus from Fairbanks. They are the same age, both come from a kennel in Fairbanks, look alike and judging by the description of the dog’s behavior (hint: rolling in/stealing/eating dead salmon) they have similar temperaments—incorrigible. New York City is indeed the world’s village. (and it takes a village to spoil a Hound).
So I am definitely on the mend much to the joy and chagrin of my humans as I am not at all happy about the lack of multi-hour walks about which I have become increasing vocal and physically resistant. Ditto the no running, jumping up and messing with other dogs. But all good (or bad) things come to end depending upon your perspective and my humans are increasingly forced to concede the point about the length of my walks.
But this has been an exciting week in other ways as well and like much of the country I have been riveted by the heroics of the Navy SEALS –even more so when it was disclosed that the mission included the presence of a heavily armored, helicopter rappelling canine. And like the rest of the team the identity of this kevlared canine is so top secret that not even its breed can be been revealed. My humans, however, are pretty sure that he is not a bloodhound as we are heroic only in our pursuit of the contents of the laundry bin and the dinner table. Additionally, it was their impression that I would most likely bay while rappelling and the sound of my nasal investigations would render any stealth impossible. For those unfamiliar with this latter point, the sound of a giant Hound nose in exploratory mode, like say when in contact with a kitchen counter, is akin to the noise made by a Boeing wind tunnel. Central Command would have to worry less about stealthy helicopters and more about nose noise dampening technology. (Bose for the Nose).
While I never actually fancied myself as a rappelling kind of guy I can see myself as the head of a Black and Tan Ops team:
Mission Commander Wimsey: Team Leader have you breeched the compound?
Team Leader: Negative Commander. An unexpected obstacle has arisen.
Mission Commander Wimsey: Not a hostile with a spray bottle again?
Team Leader: Negative Commander. A barrier has been erected since our last recon. We have Tactical analyzing the situation.
Mission Commander Wimsey: What kind of barrier?
Team Leader: It’s baby gate of an unusually sturdy design.. Tactical is assessing whether breech is best achieved by a running jump or manual knock down.
Mission Commander Wimsey: What about the C5?
Team Leader: That’s a no go Commander. Too much collateral damage—the refrigerator is too close.
Mission Commander Wimsey: Do you have eyes on the hostiles?
Team Leader: Affirmative Commander. One setting the table and another at the stove. No weapons visible and they seem unaware of our presence.
Mission Commander Wimsey: Good. This is a vital extraction.
Team Leader: Never fear Commander. Failure is not an option. None of us wants to spend another night in The Crate.
Mission Commander Wimsey: I don’t blame you Team Leader. I’ve spent enough time there myself to appreciate the impediment it presents to successful operations.
Team Leader: We now have a visual on the target Commander. Repeat “Chinook” is visible and within range.
Mission Commander Wimsey: Is the salmon grilled or poached?
Team Leader: Grilled Commander. A much cleaner kill.
Mission Commander Wimsey: Proceed Team Leader. We here at Hound Team 6 are all proud of you and have every confidence in your successful capture. What’s happening?! I hear a lot of noise! Who’s that screaming!?
Team Leader: Team Leader to Mission Commander “Chinook” is EIA! Repeat “Chinook” is EIA. It was delicious. One hostile slightly injured, the other very irate. Apparently they have to eat macaroni for dinner now. Team is all safe and all have left location via hole they dug under the fence in the yard.
Mission Commander Wimsey: Excellent work Team Leader! Another dinner successfully eaten in action—the fate of all good meals that have the temerity to be prepared within olfactory range of a Hound!
Perhaps I should publish a book on the daring exploits of my black and tan ops team—the panty raids are particularly exciting.
What’s also exciting is that I will potentially be going on another road trip (yes I know, with They Who Cannot Pump Gas, otherwise known as my humans). It turns out that the week of May 16th is National Craft Beer Week and I happen to be the spokeshound for an exceptionally delicious Craft Beer, Baying Hound Ale which I have written about extensively. My face is on the label and I like to think that there is a little of me in every bottle although I don’t know if that is the right metaphor for something people might actually want to drink. Anyway, on May 21st the Aleworks is hosting an open house at the brewery in Rockville, Maryland and I am potentially going to put in an appearance. I am sure listening to a baying hound whilst drinking a Baying Hound will be a memorable experience.
Well I think that is all for this week. I have some stitches to pull out and some meat to munch.
Until next time,
Wimsey, on the mend and on the move