Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #247

Entry #247

February 3, 2012

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you from the balmy climes of New York’s Upper West Side where winter seems to have taken a powder—and not the kind I like to disport myself in (in winters past my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have noted my uncanny knack for finding sections of fresh powder in the otherwise well traveled precincts of Central Park and then leaping about in it like a Lipizzaner on cocaine). For those of you who would like to revisit my winter frolics, take a look at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bnf0SfUmoS8.

Well it has been a pretty good week around here—I am relieved to have Elizabeth around again to make crazy during the day and hope she stays put for a while. Of course the new toys she brought me from Europe to assuage her guilt have been fun but I wish she had brought some of their snow instead.

And a catastrophic consequence of the warm weather was Elizabeth’s decision to bathe me on Monday afternoon. Now some would question the wisdom of trying to bathe a giant, reluctant Hound who is bigger than you are all on one’s own but I must admit she had a powerful (and pungent) reason to summon the courage to do so. I had simply passed over that dividing line from stinking to reeking which seems to have given her that surge of adrenaline and optimism necessary to accomplish the task. But in all fairness, she cheats by tying me to the masonry soap dispenser so escape would also entail bringing down an entire wall, something even I have yet to accomplish. And she has also perfected the art of scrubbing with one hand and feeding me bribing turkey with the other to decrease my escape incentive.

Well you can only imagine the mess I make—from the mounds of wet, hair imbedded towels to the flooded floor, to the walls and ceilings dripping with spikey Hound hairs, to the soaking wet human to say nothing of the state of the bathtub—so you can also easily imagine my humans’ consternation when they discovered yesterday (3 days post bath) that I stink again! So much work for so little result.

My stench producing capabilities are like the Eighth Wonder of the World and I am sure that if I had lived in ancient times I would have been venerated for my wizardry. In today’s world, however, I must merely content myself with the consternation that I cause my humans. And never one to rest on my laurels (or my generously proportioned tush) I continue to push the envelope of new ways to be disgusting—new smells, new secretions, new emissions! In fact, only yesterday Elizabeth had the temerity to eat a chocolate cupcake in front of me (knowing full well that she should have purchased a vanilla one that I could share) so I managed to simultaneously belch (did I mention I eat fish-based kibble?) and fart at her. I’m sure it enhanced the flavor of the cupcake.

Anyway, although the weather has been warm the 77th Street pedicab guys are on winter break which of course does not stop me from dragging my humans thither and inspecting the place minutely—you never know, they could be hiding in a crack. Having satisfied myself that they are in fact missing I then scour the park for new pedicab guys to annoy, terrorize or delight depending on their point of view. This week one of them stopped and was so charmed by me that he asked if he could take my picture (The answer to this question is unfortunately always yes, meaning that I am harassed not only by my humans’ camera but by those of complete strangers as well. Fortunately as with most things relating to me, turkey is involved). Anyway, a few more pedicabs showed up, then a group of people to watch (and listen) and all the ruckus ended up attracting a family who hired the original pedicab guy for a tour. I want a commission. Or else my humans need to go into the pedicab business.

It seems each day this week brought some special pleasure and Sunday was no exception when we ran into one of the heroes of the ASPCA’s Humane Law Enforcement department. There was much baying and admiring and picture taking and some insistence on my part for a ride along (which sadly went unrequited). If I am a tad obsessed with pedicabs, it is nothing compared to my obsession with police officers and what could be better than one who rescues animals! And now I know who to call when the elf hats and antlers appear. (And when Elizabeth is not off stalking bloodhounds at this year’s Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show she will be helping out at the ASPCA’s booth).

And then on Wednesday I had a visit from my French bulldog puppy, Pluto, which is always a lot of fun (at least for us). I keep close tabs on the little fellow to make sure anything he gets into is not something I also want to get into (we share a common love of the recyclables pile) and Elizabeth keeps close tabs on both of us. And there is nothing like his visit to bring out (or my humans would say further enhance) my bratty side:

- When Pluto picked up an old bone I haven’t touched in a year I felt an urgent need to take it away and chew it (Elizabeth felt an urgent need to take it away and put it in the closet).

- Similarly when Pluto wanted to play with one of my stuffed toys I too found I needed to play with it (and Elizabeth found she needed it to join my bone collection in the closet. Pluto and I did give her the collective stink eye over this but to no avail).

- Somehow Pluto’s presence stimulated my interest in my untouched bowl of kibble and I found to my delight that crunching kibble to the accompaniment of the little fellow’s protesting snorts and squeaks enhanced its flavor considerably. In fact it was so pleasurable that I decided to enjoy the experience twice.

- Normally Elizabeth’s consumption of a piece of fruit engenders nothing more active than a brief, exploratory nose twitch to ascertain that nothing desirable is being eaten in my presence. Pluto, however, is very fond of fruit, which somehow made it imperative that I join him in sharing Elizabeth’s apple. The fact that I spit a lot of it out all over the carpet had absolutely nothing to do with the necessity of its being fed in the first place.

Well all this was so much fun that Elizabeth kept trying to cajole me onto the futon to take my afternoon nap. When I finally decided to accede to her wishes Pluto found this course of action wholly objectionable and set up such an impressive display of play bowing, snorting and capering that I was finally forced to descend from the futon and chase the heck out of him. Elizabeth’s possessions went flying as a consequence, as did we. And the clever little fellow would dash under the furniture where I couldn’t get at him and then come shooting out again to start the game anew. And there was much throwing myself on the ground (a necessity when one is 130 lbs. and one’s adversary is a mere 25) and wrestling upside down with lots of succulent drool on my part and sonorous snorting on his. Sadly for Elizabeth it was too early for the gin.

And yesterday was Groundhog Day (I approve of any animal with the word “hog” in its name, although we Hounds are not only ground hogs but are also bed hogs, food hogs ((food being loosely interpreted)) and furniture hogs) and regardless of what the beasts say the flowers in Central Park have started to come up (the increase in vegetative vertical surfaces always being a much anticipated event around here) so I am betting on an early spring. But Groundhog Day is a strange custom—I mean if you woke up a Hound and it saw its shadow it would drag you to the park. And if you woke it up and it didn’t see its shadow it would still drag you to the park. Or it might eat your stuff or steal your food or sit in your lap or fling drool in your face. So pretty much if it’s sleeping you should probably leave it alone because the alternatives are going to be worse. But the movie Ground Hog Day is one of my humans’ favorites since living with a Hound is a lot like the movie where the same day is lived over and over again (for the uninitiated I spend my day with my spare human Elizabeth who takes me for my midday walk and brings me to her apartment and then both my humans and I go out for my after work walk, then I go home):

Wimsey’s Bloodhog Day

Good morning! Here’s some drool and wrinkles and my cold nose! It’s time to walk me.

I don’t want to go that way; I want to go this way.

I’m not finding the exact right spot in which to poop. Let’s walk some more.

Was I supposed to poop? I thought I was supposed to play with those dogs, chase that squirrel, crunch that water bottle and find that guy eating the Danish.

I found a place to poop! Too bad it’s through that fence where you won’t be able to pick it up; but the city can use the $250 fine.

How come there is just kibble in my bowl?

What are you eating?

Going to work? Don’t care—it’s time for my morning nap.

Is it noon already? You and what army are going to get me off this bed.

Rub my belly.

OK, I am on the couch now so brush my teeth with that peanut butter stuff.

Using the bathroom before we go out? You can scratch my head while you’re taking care of business. It’s called multitasking.

Time to go out? No, it’s time to rub my belly

I’ll let you put on my collar and harness if you feed me a cookie. Otherwise you can rub my belly.

OK, I’m leashed up. Open this door now! Why are you so slow!

Ahroooo Everyone in Building—especially yappy dog upstairs—I’m going out for my walk now!

Which park should we go to?

I want to go to the other one.

Hey, you there with the grocery bag—I want to have a look in there.

Ahrooo. Why is this light still red? I want to cross!

If you didn’t want my nose in your butt you shouldn’t have worn leggings.

Hey you-- Little Dog! I’m coming over to say hello. Hiding behind your human won’t help. I know you’re there.

Stop yelling! It’s only a little drool.

The running board on that SUV looks like a good place to poop.

I want the pedicabs!

I want to go into the Lake and play with the ducks!

I want to go into the police car and play with the cops!

There’s food in that stroller—don’t let it get away!

Yes you can take my picture providing my human feeds me turkey.

Leaving the park so soon! It’s only been two hours.

Not moving.

Crowd thinks you’re mean for trying to get me to leave the park.

I hate leaving the park. I’m going to bay at someone and scare them.

Why do you keep saying “Wimsey No!” You know I don’t know what that means.

What do you mean I have to use the service elevator in this building?

What’s for lunch?

I’ll have what you’re having.

Time for my nap. You’d better open the windows, eggs make me gassy.

If you have an important call to make, I’ll postpone my nap so I can squeak my toy.

Nap time over. I want to be scratched now. Get your hands off that computer. Here’s my head.

Where’s my other human—it’s time for our after work walk.

What do you mean I have to use the service elevator in this building?

There’s my other human! I’m going to try to knock her down.

My baying echoes in this lobby! Wonder why people are so nervous.

Lots of tasty looking rats out tonight!

What! You want to turn around and go home? It’s only been an hour!

What do you mean my other human has to go home?

Dinnertime. Why is there just kibble in this bowl?

TV? No. Belly rub.

You can’t watch TV if I’m sitting in front of it.

That book looks delicious.

A walk before bed? No thanks. I’m comfy.

You dragged me out, you pee!

You want to get into this bed? Wrestle you for it.

Good morning! Here’s some drool and wrinkles and my cold nose! It’s time to walk me.

Well you get the idea. Anyway, before I sign off for the week it would be remiss of me not to note that the city is in the throes of Giants fever. Of course it would be better if Giant Stadium wasn’t actually in New Jersey--New Yorkers in general taking a dim view of anything emanating from that state—but since they are winning the New Jersey angle is conveniently forgotten. Supermarkets are running out of snack foods and men on the street are selling silly hats. We all of course will be watching The Puppy Bowl. Providing of course that none of the puppies are from New Jersey.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the Everything Hog