Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #217

Entry #217

June 24, 2011

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you as usual from my air conditioned aerie on Manhattan’s Upper West Side where my apartment has finally been made fit for a Hound of my delicate climactic sensibilities. I always enjoy making my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth run the air conditioning in both their apartments even though the actual temperature is cool enough to dictate otherwise. I don’t like humidity and on these cool

sticky days we’ve been having, a refreshing burst of cool, dry air is a must to maintain my Houndly equanimity. And since living with a happy Hound is tough enough, living with a disgruntled one doesn’t bear thinking about.

And speaking of being disgruntled, all the sticky weather made my fine Houndy aroma so outrageously

pungent that on Wednesday Elizabeth could stand it no longer and threw me in the bathtub and washed me. Normally this is a two woman operation (followed by copious consumption of cocktails) but the odor had reached such an extent that Elizabeth decided to risk it. The first time she attempted this there was much soapy hopping out of the tub and flooding the bathroom so now she ties me to the soap dish that is cemented into the wall and

feeds me turkey with one hand while she washes me with the other. And since there was no one to occupy me while she cleaned up the mess afterwards I decided to help her out by inspecting each clump of hair she pulled from the hair trap and supervising its disposal. Of course my assistance made more of a mess but at least she wasn’t lonely.

Well as you will see from this week’s photos I have been out and about a fair amount which means I have been scratched, fed and photographed to an extraordinary degree—the people of New York City and its visitors have impeccable taste in Hounds. It’s always easier to admire a Hound when you don’t have to live with one. Even apart from the major filching and flinging of drool there are any number of daily battles that must be waged that take their toll on the human will to win. In my case, here are a few of my personal favorites:

My Favorite Things

1. Instead of doing something civilized, like going to the door, when I want to go out, I climb on my humans and shove my drool-infused stuffed dog in their faces.

2. When my humans then get out my walking equipment I a) roll over on my back b) begin chewing a bone c) decide to have a lengthy drink of water forcing them to stand around and wait for an interminable amount of time d) decide I want to be chased or e) a-d

3. When my equipment is finally on

(hint: bribery helps) I decide that my stuffed dog also needs a walk.

4. Once outside my door I bay loudly so that all the other people living in the building (and especially the yappy little dog on the second floor) know that I am going out for my walk.

5. When actually outside I psychically divine in which direction my humans want to go and furiously tow in the opposite one.

6. At each street corner where there is red light I bay furiously at it thus giving old ladies heart attacks and young children nightmares.

7. One the way to the park I try to make sure I lift my leg on the poles supporting building awnings while the doormen are watching and on fire hydrants and lampposts in front of outdoor cafes where people are eating.

8. If we happen to pass people getting into a car I attempt to join them.

9. Once in the park I assiduously search for a place to poop and then scoot into the middle of a bush so that retrieving my waste involves scratches and hyper extended limbs.

10. People in possession of water bottles or desirable sandwiches are likely to be either relieved of these items or bayed at relentlessly until they fork them over.

11. I also relentlessly hunt down discarded water bottles and force my humans to stand around while I dismember them. When I am finished with them and my humans try to bin them I decide I want them again and snatch them back.

12. I like to routinely visit the outdoor cafes in the park and stare and drool at the people trying to eat.

13. When my humans decide it’s time to go home I decide it’s time to throw myself on the ground, roll around and refuse to move. Repeatedly.

14. On the way home I only want to walk down streets that have pet stores.

15. No matter which direction we are coming from, all roads lead to Grom Gelato.

OK, you say, so none of these things (and there is plenty more where they come from) is serious enough to earn me an appearance on The Dog Whisperer or It’s Me or the Dog, but just try living with it day after day—it’s no wonder why both my humans give people vigorous lectures on why they don’t want one of me. And of course, whilst they are delivering these lectures I make it a point to affect my most mild and well behaved expression so that in addition to everything else I do to them I cause people to think they are neurotic and crazy.

But this week, in addition to helping me hold court in Central Park, (at one point I was seated on an appropriately throne-like rock and passersby came to make their obeisance) Elizabeth has spent an inordinate amount of time watching Wimbledon which I really don’t understand. There are tennis balls involved yet Roger Federer is not running around the court carrying them while being chased by Rafa Nadal and the ball boys. And no one seems to have any interest in ripping off the yellow fuzzy stuff which seems to me the whole point of a tennis ball. (Retrieving not being a Houndly skill). But I do like hearing about all the different shots—they sound very appealing:

Wimsey’s Tennis Lexicon

The Serve: perhaps my favorite shot and one well executed by my humans who serve me water from the fountains in the park, pizza from Dean’s Pizzeria and of course luscious spoonfuls of health giving, restorative Grom gelato.

The Forehand: This occurs when I drape the front part of my body over my humans and they scratch, pet and massage my forequarters.

The Backhand: This occurs when I park my large hindquarters on a small lap so that the rest of me can be scratched, petted and massaged.

The Volley: This occurs when I execute multiple, sequential head shakes resulting in the launch of a veritable volley of viscous spit. (A serve and volley frequently occurs after I’ve paid a visit to a water fountain).

The Lob: This is a high, arcing shot that occurs when I fling one massive mound of goop that lands either on the top of someone’s head or in their face depending on how tall they are.

The Overhead: A fine shot that creates some interesting and hard to clean patterns on the ceiling.

The Smash: The smash is an inevitable consequence of an episode of happy tail. It works best when played on expensive knick-knacks or irreplaceable items of high sentimental value.

These shots make fine additions to the traditional Hound ones of the Snatch and Grab, The Crotch Poke, The Bed Shove, The Bank Account Emptier and The Gimme.

But to keep me quiet during all this Wimbledon watching Elizabeth bought me yet another giant Merrick bone—I will soon have enough bones to assemble the entire cow which will be a fine addition to my other decorating innovations in her apartment.

Anyway, I think that’s all for this week. I’m hoping for some better weather next week as cool, rainy weather means fewer water bottles to stalk, steal, hunt, capture and eviscerate.

Until next time,

Wimsey, master of 101 ways to make my humans crazy