Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #264

Entry #264

June 8, 2012

Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey, coming to you from the slinger soaked precincts of New York’s Upper West Side where the ground isn’t the only thing that gets soggy during our intermittent spring rains. As you can see, I am always ready to add to the city’s moisture quotient on the ground, in the air and especially on people’s faces.

Well this week provided yet more evidence of human frailty. Although my primary human Maria remains hale and hearty her friend Elizabeth is down with a bad cold. She claims that is the reason she is lying around on the couch watching tennis on TV and downing copious quantities of aspirin. 

 

Personally, I think she needs very little incentive to lie on the couch watching fit men run around in shorts and as far as the aspirin, our afternoons together provide more than enough reason to be hitting this particular bottle with some frequency.

 And speaking of hitting the bottle, I actually got to pay a visit to Beacon Liquors, home of all things gin, owing to the fact that I was wearing my Heinous Gentle Leader and Elizabeth was experiencing a Jack Daniels emergency related to the drinking of the stuff in hot tea with lemon before going to bed.  (Elizabeth says the cold is making her miserable but I think she is having a pretty good time all things considered). Of course Maria was aghast when she heard that I had gone into Beacon Liquors, because although dogs are theoretically permitted, she doesn’t think the entrance of a Giant Hound, throwing around drool and stink and making use of a relentlessly investigative nose is exactly what the proprietors had in mind.  The stock guys were pretty impressed though as they watched me run my nose up and down the merchandise; I heard the word “perro’ quite a bit and only one customer looked at me with that look that indicated that she would rather one of us was elsewhere.

 

And when Elizabeth complains about her cold to Maria during the hours when I am not with her, Maria offers to send me over to act as “nurse.” Unfortunately, Elizabeth objects to my dynamic nursing style which generally consists of waiting until she’s taking a nap, then treating myself to a refreshing and noisy drink of water, then standing next to her, then flapping my ears loudly so she is the recipient of the excess water and then sticking my drippy and drooly muzzle in her face to wipe off the rest of the moisture.  Then I demand to be scratched seeing as she is already up. I don’t really approve of afternoon naps unless I am the one taking them. And it is my belief that going out with me in the fresh air and the sunshine (or the rain and the damp) is bound to be good for her cold and is certainly more useful than lying around on the couch watching tennis.

I’m afraid we Hounds do not make very good nurses, principally because we are seldom interested enough in anyone other than ourselves to do anything nice. But having me around gives you other things to think (and complain) about other than how miserable you are feeling and I am sure the increase in blood pressure is very stimulating.  So now instead of complaining about how sick she feels, Elizabeth calls Maria to complain about what a dreadful dog I am.  The response is always the same: “I know. I live with him.”

Which brings me to an announcement that I was asked to make by Hounds Cooper and Casey about bloodhound puppies being available at For-Ever Home Bloodhound Sanctuary in Louisiana. http://www.for-everhomebloodhoundsanctuary.com/ But when you look at those cute little wrinkly faces, remember—they will grow up to be me!  Fully-fledged, card carrying, drool flinging, don’t care what you want Wimseys! And lest you think that tales of bloodhound madness and mayhem are exaggerated, trust me, they are not. In point of fact there are bloodhound savvy humans who believe that, all things considered, I am actually quite well behaved. For a bloodhound. And we are time sinks and money sinks and Elizabeth thinks bloodhounds are a plot foisted on humanity by the liquor industry which means we’re probably not all that great for your liver either.  But we are very cute.

And this week I almost had a visit from our friend (I always say “our” to make my humans feel better, but the reality is that these people are my friends—nobody would care about them were it not for me) Tom Schreck who was in town to promote his latest book, The Vegas Knockout, the current entry in his series of mysteries (all available on Amazon) that of course have a Hound as a character (in this case a basset).  Tom himself, in addition to being an author and an international boxing official, is also a mixed Hound man—he’s got bassets and bloodhounds.  All he needs is a beagle for the trifecta (or the loony bin).  I always think people who have Hounds are exceptionally talented and resourceful—probably because they have to be to live with us. Anyway, he ended up leaving New York a day early so I did not get to deposit drool on him, but check out his books—they’re delicious!

Now as an international Hound about town I want to comment about events across the pond. Although it was an ordinary week here in the U.S. it was Jubilee Week in the UK and the advent of the much-anticipated thousand ship royal flotilla on the Thames.  Now it seems The Palace envisioned a magnificent pageant of festive vessels with millions of admiring citizens lining the banks disporting themselves at lavish, jolly picnics in the warm June sunshine.  They just seem to have forgotten one thing: the event was to take place in England.  There is a reason that visitors are advised to carry umbrellas at all times (and as far as the temperature, Elizabeth remembers being on a British Airways flight one August when the pilot announced that the temperature in London had risen above 70 degrees and the plane erupted in cheers).  But as a long serving monarch myself (although of the more absolute variety no longer permitted in civilized circles) I think that a royal Hound flotilla on the Hudson would be a much better idea:

CNN Special Report: Hound Jubilee on the Hudson

Wolf Blitzer: Good morning and thank you for joining us. I’m Wolf Blitzer along with my colleague Anderson Cooper and today we once again take a break from showing you all the gory things that are going on the world and all the gory things that might be going on in the world and all the gory things that have gone on in the world to present the American public with some ratings-enhancing fluff dreamed up by the producers.

Anderson Cooper:  I thought we were going to London!

Wolf Blitzer: We were but the producers said they had filled their quota of inane, besotted royalty fawning newscasters and that New York is more suited to our gritty style.

Anderson: Well I suppose we can always hope that some unexpected violence might break out. Perhaps Mayor Bloomberg will cause a riot by outlawing hamburgers larger than 4 ounces or by throwing people with BMIs of more than 25 in jail.  And at least here it’s not cold and rainy.  So what’s going on?

Wolf: Wimsey is celebrating his Jubilee with a flotilla on the Hudson!

Anderson: But he’s not old enough for a Diamond Jubilee.

Wolf: Hounds don’t celebrate Diamond Jubilees, Anderson; they celebrate Peed on Rugs Jubilees and Chewed Up Shoes Jubilees and Stolen Sunday Roast Jubilees.

Anderson: Well what Jubilee is Wimsey celebrating?

Wolf:  The Deaf Jubilee. Although strictly speaking Wimsey does manage to hear phrases such as “Does Wimsey want a cookie?” and “Can I give him part of my sandwich?” so it’s more accurately a Selective Hearing Jubilee.

Anderson: And is that the Royal Hound Barge coming down the Hudson?

Wolf: That’s right.  His throne is in the shape of a couch.

Anderson: But what’s that he’s sitting on?

Wolf: Those are his humans. Wimsey doesn’t like the tush feel of cushions. He prefers to sit on people. Also it makes it more convenient for them to scratch him.

Anderson: And what’s the next boat?

Wolf: Well all the boats honor Hounds, so this one is devoted to chewed up leather goods—your shoes, your gloves, your belts that $2,000 jacket you saved up for…

Anderson: Wow. It’s quite a sight.  But the next boat just seems to be piles of feathers and fluff.

Wolf: That is the boat of pillows and cushions. Or at least what is left of them.  And the boat that follows was once a library.

Anderson: I wish my shredder did such a good job! But what’s that next boat? It looks like it’s filled with people drinking Champagne?

Wolf: That’s the New York Association of Veterinarians.  

Anderson: But that next boat is pretty.  It looks like it’s filled with greenery.

Wolf: It is.  It’s all the landscaping that’s been dug up.

Anderson: But there must be thousands of dollars worth there!

Wolf: More like tens of thousands worth. 

Anderson: I guess this is more entertaining than watching the royal family freeze because they refuse to put on coats. But this next boat just looks like construction site junk.

Wolf: It is now, but once it was actual drywall, and floors and plumbing—people’s homes actually.

Anderson: Someone should sell Hound insurance.

Wolf: No one could afford it.  I mean look at all those boats filled with rugs and furniture and bedding not to mention all the clothing and underwear.  And I am not even counting all the foodstuffs that go missing. No wonder the royal family has corgis and not Hounds.  The British taxpayers would never stand for footing the bill for the all the damage!

Anderson: Unlike all the Americans who do. But why do they do it? I mean aren’t there more productive ways to spend one’s money than on Hounds?

Wolf: Not according to Wimsey. And of course Hounds are very cute.

Anderson: But so am I and no one would stand for me wrecking their stuff and monopolizing their lives.  OK, I am a celebrity, so maybe the just wrecking their stuff part.

Wolf: Well you know Anderson, America is a country of optimists. Sure the Hound smells and bays and flings drool all over the walls and ceiling and doesn’t listen to you and shoves you off the furniture and steals your food and chews up your possessions.  But that’s today. Tomorrow he could be different. And if not, there’s always the Tanqueray.

Anderson: I guess it’s the same optimistic spirit that plans a multi-million dollar, all day outdoor extravaganzas in a country where it rains all the time.

Wolf: Yes, we owe a lot to our British heritage.  Some people could call us foolish.  We call it a Special Relationship.

Well you get the idea.  And speaking of special relationships, Pluto the little Frenchie came for a visit yesterday so instead of lying on the couch watching tennis (or working on the project that she was supposed to be working on) Elizabeth got to be Dog Wrestling Referee.  Sadly there are no pictures as Elizabeth had to focus all her attention on making sure that I didn’t commit any illegal maneuvers, like pinning or thwacking him with my giant paws or actually biting down on his head when it’s in my mouth.  Fortunately I possess excellent small dog wrestling skills and wrestling with Pluto confirms me in my belief  (generally evinced when sitting in my humans’ laps) that I really am a small dog. And of course as soon as Pluto arrived I felt suddenly and inexplicitly compelled to eat the bowl of kibble that I had been ignoring all afternoon and then to have another few cups for good measure.  Nothing is quite as satisfying as crunching kibble while the little fellow watches.  And it was nice to have company whilst accompanying Elizabeth to the bathroom.

Anyway, I think I will leave it there for this week.  The Tonys are taking place this Sunday across the street from me at the Beacon Theater and I am hoping to slime a few stage actors instead of the regular kind.

Until next time,

Wimsey,  A large, bratty, entitled dog who thinks he is a small, bratty, entitled dog