Thursday, June 23, 2011

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

Friday, June 17, 2011

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #216

Entry #216

June 17, 2011

Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey, coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where summer seems to be having an identity crisis—one minute it’s August and the next it’s March. But fortunately I am not having an identity crisis, as I consistently remain one loud, smelly and demanding Hound. In fact my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are trying to determine how I got so smelly so fast after my last bath. What can I say? I am gifted that way. And pity this week’s poor air conditioner installers who had to suffer through the Hound stench without ever having the compensatory pleasure of getting to meet the actual Hound. I was exiled to Elizabeth’s during the installation process owing to my propensity to supervise (i.e. interfere with) mechanical modifications being made to my abode. But it turns out the gentlemen were Hound aficionados and were deeply disappointed by my absence.

But we ran into other Hound aficionados this week, too, including K-9 Police Officer Charles Cummo who was part of a police operation in my neighborhood. The other officers were naturally quite delighted by my vocal tributes to New York’s Finest but they held a special resonance for Officer Cummo who really wanted to handle a bloodhound. Sadly the NYPD put its foot down and they very wisely insisted that he get a German Shepherd instead--German Shepherds being kind of the anti-bloodhound on account of the fact that they actually both hear and obey commands. I didn’t get to meet this paragon, as he is not good with other dogs, which was a pity as I could have given him a few pointers on how to connect with his inner Hound. It turns out that the NYPD actually has 3 bloodhounds (Maria wanted to know if they wanted a 4th) so they are all too familiar with the joys of handling (or being handled) by my kind. Hence all the German Shepherds.

And this Sunday the Tony Awards were held down the street from me and on the drag home from Central Park my humans and I encountered some attendees who wanted their picture taken with me (for some inexplicable reason my presence in close proximity to people in black tie always makes my humans nervous) and we also met a bloodhound-loving stagehand. It turns out this stagehand had a bloodhound growing up to whom he was devoted (a sentiment that was, needless to say, not reciprocated by the Hound) and he regaled us with wonderful stories of the Hound’s refusal to get out of the swimming pool and its propensity to sleep (and drool) on the guy’s head and growl if the guy tried to move. He loved his dog because it had “character,” “character” being a lot like “personality” in the pantheon of euphemisms for badly behaved canines.

But the Tonys being so close made me think of all the musicals that have won awards whose songs could use some improving:

Improved Tony Award Winning Show Tunes

Kiss Me Kate:

Why Can’t You Behave (Because I’m a Hound)

South Pacific:

Dites Moi (Dites Moi Why I‘m Living With This Disgusting Hound, Dites Moi If This Makes Me a Masochist)

Some Enchanted Evening (Some Enchanted Evening My Hound Will Sit When I Ask Him To)

There’s Nothing Like a Dame (There is Nothing Like A Hound. Fortunately.)

I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair (I’m Gonna Wash That Hound Hair Right Outta of My Clothes, Or Try.)

I’m In Love With a Wonderful Man (I’m in Love With a Wonderful Hound Who is Also in Love With A Wonderful Hound)

Bloody Mary (You’ll Need a Few of These When I’m Around)

Guys and Dolls:

Luck Be A Lady (Please Don’t Be a Hound or I’ll Lose My Shirt)

The King and I:

Getting To Know You (Getting to Know Me is Getting to Need Blood Pressure Pills)

I Whistle a Happy Tune (I Whistle a Happy Tune but My Hound Still Doesn’t Come Because He’s Too Busy Chasing the Neighbor’s Cat)

Hello Young Lovers (Hello Young Lovers Messing Around There in the Grass Don’t You Wanna Pet Me Instead?)

Shall We Dance? (Shall We Roll in The Mud and Then Find Some People in Light Colored Clothing?)


Baubles, Bangles and Beads (Baubles, Bangles and Beads, They Were Delicious)

Peter Pan:

Never Never Land (Never Never Get a Hound Land)

I’ve Gotta Crow (I’ve Gotta Bay)

I’m Flying (I’m Not Really Flying It’s Just My Hound Taking Me for a Walk)

I Won’t Grow Up (I’ll Chew Up Your Stuff and Pee on the Carpet Forever)

Damn Yankees:

Whatever Lola Wants Lola Gets (Whatever My Hound Lola Wants She Steals)

My Fair Lady:

Why Can’t the English (Why Can’t the Hound Be More Like the Golden)

Wouldn’t it Be Loverly (Wouldn’t it be Loverly if Me Hound Didn’t Drool in Me Dinner)

With a Little Bit of Luck (With a Little Bit of Luck I’ll Get to Sleep Before My Hound Shoves Me Off the Bed)

I Could Have Danced All Night (I Could Have Danced All Night Except My Hound Stole My Shoes)

I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face (I’ve Grown Accustomed to His Stench)

The Rain in Spain (The Rain in Spain is Merely But Wet, the Drool in My Face is Disgusting)

Get Me To the Church on Time (Get Me To the Park On Time It’s Nearly Dawn)

You Did It (What Did You Do!)

On the Street Where You Live (On the Street Where I Live People Have Earplugs)

The Music Man:

76 Trombones (76 Trombones are Not Loud Enough to Drown Me Out)

‘Till There Was You (‘Till There Was You I Had a Life)

(Ya Got) Trouble ((I know) I Got Hound)

West Side Story:

Maria (No One Wants to Meet A Girl Named Maria They All Want to Meet A Hound Named Wimsey

Tonight (Tonight, Tonight Is Just Like Any Night-- My Hound Stole My Dinner and Ate the Remote for Dessert)

One Hand, One Heart (One Hound No Bras)

I Feel Pretty (I Feel Muddy)

Something’s Coming (Get the Poop Bag)

Flower Drum Song:

I Enjoy Being a Girl (I Enjoy Being a Hound But My Humans Not So Much)

The Sound of Music:

The Sound of Music (The Sound of Loud, Obnoxious Baying)

My Favorite Things (My Favorite Things Belong to You)

Climb Ev’ry Mountain (Climb Ev’ry Couch)

Sixteen Going on Seventeen (Sixteen Going on Seventeen Times You’ve Told Me to Sit)

Edelweiss (Edelweiss Every Morning I Pee on You)

Maria (What Are We Going to do About Maria and that large f****** Hound)


Let Me Entertain You (I Think You Should Entertain Me)

If Momma Was Married (If Maria Was Married She Would Soon Be Divorced)

Together, Wherever We Go (Together, Wherever We Go I’ll Drag You)

Everything’s Coming Up Roses (Nothing’s Coming Up Anything Because I Use the Garden as a Toilet)


Consider Yourself (Consider Yourself in Need of Psychiatric Care For Having a Hound)

As Long as He Needs Me (As Long As He Needs Me to Scratch His Belly I Have a Purpose in Life)

I’ll Do Anything (I Do Do Anything—it’s Why My Humans Need Valium)

Hello Dolly:

Hello Dolly (Hello Wimsey, Goodbye Pay Check)

Fiddler on the Roof:

If I Were A Rich Man (I Would Be My Hound’s Vet)

Sunrise, Sunset (The Perfect Interval for a Walk in the Park)

Tradition (Tradition Says That Everything That is Yours is Mine and Nothing That is Mine is Yours).

Man of La Mancha:

The Impossible Dream (A Hound in the Show Ring That Doesn’t Bay, Drool on the Judge, Try and Race the Other Dogs Around the Ring and Meet the Ladies)


Wilkommen (Willkommen auf den Hund Haus; Hier is die earplugs, die noseplugs und die plastikische clothings. Now Bitte Make Yourself Comfortable)

Tomorrow Belongs to Me (Everything Belongs To Me)

Promises, Promises:

I Say A Little Prayer (That My Hound Won’t Fling Drool in Your Face, Knock You Down Because You Are In His Way, Poke You in the Butt, Terrorize You With His Baying, Steal Your Water Bottle, Inhale Your Dog, Investigate the Contents of Your Shopping Bag, Take a Bite Out of Your Sandwich, Muddy Your Clothes or Cause Me To Be Sued)

I’ll Never Fall in Love Again (Because My Hound Doesn’t Share)

A Little Night Music:

Send in the Clowns (Send Out the Hound. Please)


Tomorrow (Tomorrow My Hound Might Behave. And A Genie Might Grant Me Three Wishes)

Ain’t Mishbehavin’:

Ain’t Misbehavin’ (Am too).

I Can’t Give You Anything But Love (I Can’t Give You Anything but You Have to Give Me Everything).

Les Miserables:

I Dreamed a Dream (I Dreamed a Dream That People Fed Me Delicious Things, Scratched Me, Gave Me Their Water Bottles, Admired Me and Didn’t Mind if I Made Them Wet and Smelly. Then I Realized it Was No Dream).

Well you get the idea. There really should be more shows with Hounds in them, but then I suppose if Sandy were a bloodhound Daddy Warbucks wouldn’t have been quite so interested in adopting Little Orphan Annie. And for those (wise) people unfamiliar with my kind let me say that in addition to the incessant drool flinging, lap sitting, couch shoving, food stealing, failure to obey commands, wanton destructive powers, amour propre and general sense of entitlement (I hope Officer Cummo is reading this) we are pretty unique in several other ways.

Of course you know, we tend to eschew barking for the more robust and ear splitting baying. But did you know we also make this annoying squeaky noise that sounds like a rusty hinge? Generally we do this when we want something or something is happening of which we disapprove (I personally squeak a lot). Squeaking is often a prelude to baying if the situation is not resolved to our satisfaction. Also when we greet someone we are really happy to see we nibble on their nose rather than just giving them a lick in the ordinary canine way. This can be somewhat disconcerting (and painful) if you are not prepared for it. And if we are really happy to see you we stand on our heads. This maneuver entails putting the head on the ground whilst elevating the posterior to its fullest extent and vigorously running around in a circle. Of course if we are really happy to see you we might knock you down also but any normal dog can do that but few apart from bloodhounds stand on their heads

Anyway, I think I will leave it there for this week. We are having thunderstorms and I have to sit on Maria to prevent her from being frightened.

Until next time,

Wimsey, an award winning musical Hound