Entry #272
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)
1 comment:
It's been a little cooler here, but the AC is still adjusted for my comfort - all it takes is one of my people to look my way and say "I think Bentley is a little uncomfortable, we should turn the air conditioning lower" and...it happens! It's good to be spoiled.
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