Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #280

Entry #280

October 10, 2012

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you from the moisture laden precincts of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I have been out and about in my red raincoat getting to know the mud puddles and the ducks of Central Park better. I had a lot more success with the former than the latter but this was due to the fact that I got a bath yesterday and needed to ramp up the filth factor ASAP.  My human Maria was happy not to have participated in the bathing process as this time it fell wholly to her friend Elizabeth in whose care I spend my afternoons and whose patience for my reek had run out.

But as one can imagine bathing me is never easy, whether solo or in tandem.

How To Bathe Wimsey

1.  Empty everything out of the bathroom (that includes all towels, toiletries and any sundry items that might become collateral damage).

2. Cover tub floor with rubber mats, cover bathroom floor with giant rubber mat.

 

3.  Mix up generous amount of The Grimeinator shampoo.

4.  Place shampoo and washcloth for scrubbing filth off face in close proximity to tub along with a pound of turkey.

5.  Take off your clothes (or when both ladies bath me, change into old tee shirts and shorts).

 

6.  Capture me and apply collar and leash.

7.  Haul me into bathroom.

8.  Close door very firmly.

9.  Brandish fistful of turkey to encourage me into tub.

 

10.  Tie me to ceramic soap dispenser masonry’d into the wall.  Feed me turkey

11.  Wet me down with shower hose; ignore the fact that the water rolls off my well- oiled coat.  Feed me turkey

12.  Pin me to wall with body to discourage escape maneuvers.  Feed me turkey.

13.  Pour soap on me and scrub.  And feed me turkey.  And scrub.  And feed me turkey.  And scrub….

14.  Ignore fact that water level is rising owing to extensive clogging of the hair catcher thingy in the drain.

15.  Ignore fact that I begin to act like a character in the Poseidon Adventure.

16.  Ignore fact that you and entire bathtub area (including ceiling) are covered in wet, spikey Hound hairs.

17.  Feed me more turkey. 

18.  Try to keep footing on hair and soap coated rubber mats while foiling escape maneuvers.

19.  Tell me I’m a good boy and feed me turkey.

 

20.  Attempt to rinse the soap off me while I attempt to be helpful by shaking water and soap in your eyes.

21.  Finish rinsing and plead with me to shake before I exit the tub.  I refuse.  But I do want more turkey.

22.  Untie me and get out of the way as I bolt out of the tub dripping wet.

23:  Protect self with towels as I decide that it is in fact now time to shake.  Ignore fact that rest of bathroom is now sporting assorted designs of Hound hair.

24.  Discourage my attempts to alternately open the bathroom door, knock the dry towels onto the wet floor or dislodge the bathroom sink.

 

25.  Ignore the fact that no matter how many towels you use—even those expensive ultra absorbent microfiber ones—my fur appears just as wet as when you started.

26.  Use hair encrusted towels to try to mop up some of the water that seems to be flooding bathroom floor.

27.  Open bathroom door and get out of the way quickly.

28.  Award me bully stick for good behavior.

29.  Survey wreckage of bathroom.

30.  Survey mound of soaking, hair encrusted laundry.

31.  Survey your wet body and face that are covered in my hair.

32.  Listen to me chomp bully stick while making a giant wet spot on the futon.

33.  Consume gin.

And I even stayed clean for 24 hours!  But ablutionary activities aside, it has been a pretty good week around here—lots of time spent refusing to leave Central Park, getting petted by visitors and towing to pet shops.  All in a week’s work for a Hound.  But one day stands out as special (well two if you are my human Maria as you will see)---I decided to take a tow down by the Hudson River, which I hadn’t done in a while, and was overcome by a desire to visit the Boat Basin Café before they close for the season.  The guy behind the bar was so overcome with remorse over the lack of the usual dog biscuits that he hustled into the kitchen and brought me some bacon instead. 

And if that weren’t enough of a culinary delight, on our way back home we ran into our friend Nancy who was in the Riverside Park playground with her little daughter Alicia and her friends. Now I am very fond of Nancy and especially of the fact that she always comes equipped with an extensive assortment of tasty snacks and leftovers and has a very liberal snack sharing philosophy.  I did however reject her proffered banana as being of insufficient culinary appeal but was much more enthusiastic about the vanilla crème sandwich cookies that followed.  Then I polished off a bowl of fish and rice that was leftover from lunch.  Delicious.  And one of Alicia’s friends wanted to know if she could feed me too.  (It is never too early to start training the next generation of snack feeding humans).  All of which gave me a hearty appetite for lunch where I consumed five cups of kibble, yam, turkey and pumpkin.  Sadly, like many overindulgences, there were consequences—especially for Maria when I slept with my butt in her bedroom and my odor sensitive nose pointed towards the fresher air of the living room.  Apparently she did not sleep well that night. 

 

Let’s see what else is new this week?  I ran into this little lady today.  We saw her from across the street and hightailed it back into the park—seeing another bloodhound is a rarity around here and cause for much jubilation.  She is from Switzerland and is on her way to Maryland with her humans for trailing training.  The humans were forced to shout over my baying, however as she was recently in season and I felt the need to extoll her beauty loudly and extensively to the neighborhood. 

And although I am not generally a fan of The Raincoat I do like the attention it brings, especially as Elizabeth has a matching red one.  We’re twins! Except for the fact that I am a celebrity and she isn’t, that everyone likes me, smiles at me and gives me things, that people remember who I am, that I am widely photographed and much admired, that I get everything that I want with no effort and that I own everything that I see with no income.  And of course the fact that I use the couch as a napkin.  Other than that, we’re twins.

This week there was also another political debate and although I am not a big fan of politics I do believe that there are issues worth discussing.  It’s just that sometimes there is no one good answer:

 

Topics Hotly Debated By Hounds

Is it better to steal or be served:  This is an extremely tough question; stealing of course is immensely satisfying because not only do you get to possess the object but also you get to do so while annoying your humans thereby killing two birds with one stone. And for those Hounds seeking some additional exercise stealing is often a prelude to a rousing game of chase (on the other hand, it can also be a prelude to a timeout in a crate or the purchase of a baby gate).  But being served is also quite delightful, reinforcing as it does, the proper subservient relationship between Hound and human. A cup of Grom Gelato would be delightful under any circumstances, but a human kneeling or bending over one to make sure one gets the full amount of the stuff in delicate spoonfuls is inexpressibly satisfying.  Not to mention the admiration that this lordly mastery garners from passersby.  Stealing a cup simply would not be the same.

 

Is it better to monopolize the bed or the couch:  Another tough question.  Monopolizing the bed is naturally very enjoyable because it relegates a human to the narrow strip on the edge of the bed (or else onto the floor or the couch) whilst you stretch out in all your snoring splendor.  The couch, however, can be appealing because it offers the option of shoving the human off entirely or of draping oneself over the human and inducing them to scratch you instead of watching TV or reading the newspaper.

 

Is it better to fling drool on people or to poke them in the butt:  A very good question of course as we Hounds like to make our presence felt just in case there is someone who failed to notice a giant, baying Hound dragging a hapless human behind him.  There is nothing quite as melodious as the “thwop” that a goodly glob of drool makes as it hits its intended target and the squeal of consternation that follows (of course there are those annoying people who’ve had newfs or St. Bernards who just laugh).  But then watching people being poked in the butt unexpectedly (although I guess there are not many circumstances where one expects to be poked in the butt) is also immensely entertaining.  (It would be even more entertaining if one’s olfactory orb could make contact with bare skin, but I am told this would be illegal).  Anyway, in both cases your human is humiliated and is forced to offer profuse apologies for your behavior-- so once again, a draw.

 

Other important topics include:

Is it is better to moonscape the yard or to dig up expensive ornamental shrubs?

Is it better to raid the laundry bin or the garbage bin?

Is it better to cause your humans to trip over you or to trip over your possessions?

Is it better to fritter away your humans’ money or their time (and its corollary: is it better to consume their money directly from their wallet or indirectly through visits to the vet)?

 

Any ahroo, I think I will leave it there for this week.  We did visit the closed Central Park carousel on Sunday—I always think that instead of sitting on carved galloping horses it would be much more enjoyable to be perched on statues of an assortment of fleeing Hounds with steaks, chickens, sandwiches, shoes and panties in their mouths. Wimsey’s Carousel of Dreams.

Until next week,

Wimsey, Clean For a Day