August 10, 2012
Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where we are having a hot and muggy summer and my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are running their ACs non-stop on my behalf. Of course for most of last week it was on behalf of the beer from my brewery, Baying Hound Aleworks that Maria did not want to overheat before we could bring it over to the vet’s on Saturday. Even things with my picture on them have to be kept at a comfortable temperature!
The vet staff were thrilled and delighted with the beer—and why wouldn’t they be with my handsome mug decorating the delicious brew—but I was cruelly repaid by having things shoved up my bum all in aid of an anal gland culture recheck. I mean I appreciate the fact that people pay so much attention to a large, charismatic Hound such as myself, but my anal glands are far from my best feature. Anyway I am pleased to report that even my anal glands are stubborn and non-cooperative—there was no fluid to culture. The vet was pleased, the vet tech was pleased, Maria was pleased, Elizabeth was pleased, I was not pleased.
I also have to apologize for the paucity of photos this week—my humans have been extremely recalcitrant in the matter of documenting my every move—and what annoying moves they’ve been too. And it’s been a busy week around here so I’ll attempt to acquit myself with unaccustomed brevity—I am naturally a creature of extensive and varied verbal abilities as those who read this blog and who live in my neighborhood know all too well.
Well this week I decided that even though it is still summer I wished to take lengthy toasty walks in the afternoon. My humans are a cynical bunch and decided that this had something to do with the fact that Elizabeth (who conducts my afternoon walks) is behind on a work project and short of time. So it’s been all “Wimsey it’s hot out here—don’t you want to go back into the nice air conditioning?” To which my reply has invariably been to tow in the opposite direction and to conduct a Grand Tour of air-conditioned Upper West Side Pet Shops instead. In fact this week I have become so maniacal in pursuit of pet shop visits that the heinous gentle leader has made more than one appearance, causing one of Elizabeth’s neighbors to think that I was wearing a muzzle. This is very puzzling as in summer, gentle leader or no, my mouth is wide open to permit maximum tongue lolling; so it’s hard to imagine how this little strap would stop me from taking a chunk out of someone’s butt if I were so inclined. (Fortunately we Hounds are rather more inclined towards taking a chunk out of someone’s sandwich rather than their butts).
But I really like to go to pet shops just to sniff the merchandise as I already possess a plethora of toys and not all of them come from pet shops either. I’m kind of the equivalent of a canine dumpster diver as many of my treasures are objets trouvés as it were. Several weeks ago, for instance, I really hit pay dirt—a tennis ball that was not only filthy but made a hideously loud and high pitched noise when chomped upon. Now Maria, who has had extensive experience with the inadvisability of letting me bring home these found objects, strongly counseled Elizabeth not to let me add the ball to my burgeoning toy pile in her apartment. Words that this week I know she wished she’d heeded. There is nothing like trying to complete a challenging and overdue project whilst listening to me play a prolonged game of auto soccer with a loud, squeaky tennis ball to make one understand what it truly means to live with a Hound. And better yet, whenever I batted the ball under furniture or into some other inaccessible spot I would go and interrupt Elizabeth’s work to demand that she retrieve it for me. All of which led to a rather high decibel request on the part of Elizabeth for Maria to come get her Hound post haste, alleging that if she didn’t hurry I would shortly become an ex-Hound.
Is it any wonder that as my humans looked at the pictures being sent back from Mars they half expected to see a giant Martian Hound trot over, sniff the vehicle and lift his leg. We are everywhere you don’t want us to be doing everything you don’t want us to do. But we are very cute.
So as promised—a short post! But first, since I am short pictures this week here is a gratuitous picture of my Frenchie buddy Pluto. It just arrived this afternoon from Maine where Pluto is vacationing with his humans. I miss running into him on the street at 6:30 in the morning and letting everyone in the neighborhood know how pleased I am to see him. Well I think I will leave you with that thought, if not that sound.
Until next time,
Wimsey, (a Hound whose humans think a beer bottle is a voodoo doll)