Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #287

Entry #287

December 14, 2012

Hello Everyone, it’s me Wimsey coming to you at long last from my accustomed perch on Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I have been dispensing my usual holiday cheer to all and sundry—usually with a quick shake of my head to deliver some special Christmas drool. My blogging schedule can tend to get a bit erratic during the holidays with all the activities in which I am called upon to participate—like annoying the merchants and serenading the crowd at the Columbus Circle Christmas Fair or for helping to host small, square canines like my friend Pluto here. 

We may look very different but I can assure that our hearts beat as one when it comes to such crucial things as getting our own way or inducing our humans to consume copious quantities of cocktails.  My human Maria thinks Pluto is very cute but that is because it is her friend Elizabeth who actually had the care of him for a week of snorty good fun (at least for him). And of course both of us were together at Elizabeth’s where I am cared for during the day when my human Maria deserts me for her office.  I think she should have her office in her apartment like Elizabeth so she can enjoy all the benefits of having me around when she is trying to work—like having to stay up late because she blew the afternoon perambulating in the park with me or being forced to take frequent and often involuntary Hound scratching breaks or to anticipating the exciting auditory effects that I can bring to a conference call or never having to use the paper shredder.

 

But I digress.  Like any good host I wanted to show Pluto a good time—principally this involved dragging the humans around for an unconscionable amount of time in the park and disporting ourselves in such a way as to require complicated leash choreographies.  The ladies looked like they were doing some demented square dance much to the amusement of canines and passing pedestrians.  I also introduced Pluto to my pedicab buddies--they can actually pet him without bending over at the waist and reaching out the length of their arms in an attempt (usually futile) to avoid contact with my drooly muzzle.  Somehow the sight of humans doing this just demands a quick drool fling in their direction. 

And the sight of Elizabeth with Pluto was a cause of great confusion amongst her building’s staff and her neighbors (who frankly never seem to understand why I am resident sometimes but not others or to realize that Elizabeth is merely my auxiliary human not my primary one).  People wanted to know if I was dead (!) and if Pluto was her new dog.  Maybe it’s just me, but somehow a human with a 130 lb. bloodhound choosing a 25lb. French bulldog as a replacement seems a bit unlikely. Downsizing to a basset hound or a beagle would seem a much more sensible scenario but then again considering that people often mistake Pluto for an English Bulldog and me for a Bull Mastiff I guess I should not be surprised.

But we do look very cute together.  So much so that Pluto’s grandmother thinks that our pictures should be used in advertisements.  But what could we advertise?

 

Potential Advertising Contracts for Wimsey and Pluto

Budweiser: This Bud’s for you (it’s the only thing in your house that is)

Bombay Sapphire: Pour something priceless (to replace the rug)

KFC: Finger lickin’ good (also face lickin good, plate lickin good, garbage bag lickin good…)

Subway: Eat fresh (but eat fast, we’re quick)

Burger King: Have it your way (not)

Obsession: Between love and madness lies obsession (between love and madness lies us; or maybe just madness)

Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes: They’re GRRREAT (they were great and so was the box)

Pizza Hut: Now you’re eating (now we’re eating and you can’t catch us)

Honda: The Power of Dreams (the power of dreams like getting to sleep in the middle of the bed instead of at the edge)

Snickers: Don’t let hunger happen to you (we never do)

Ford: Everything we do is driven by you (It’s all your fault--you should have trained us better)

Audi: Never follow (always tow)

Crest: look Ma, no cavities (no toothpaste either. We like mint).

Folger’s: The best part of waking up is Folger’s in your cup (and us snoring in your ear).

Life Cereal: Life is full of surprises (like the ones we leave on the carpet)

Well you get the idea.  Anyway, on Sunday I took Pluto along on an endless, rainy tow around Central Park.  Elizabeth was carrying a bag full of my seasonal headgear—antlers, elf hats and the like-- in hopes of getting some Traditional Let’s Pay Wimsey Back for a Year of Aggravation pictures but sadly she did not get any pictures because she didn’t want the stuff to get wet.  Also pictures of wet, muddy, cheesed off dogs in the pouring rain doesn’t exactly say Christmas, does it?  So for those of you who are wondering why there are no pictures of me in antlers and elf hats stay tuned.  Rumor has it that the bag will make a reappearance this Sunday. 

But I have been paraded about in my seasonal ruff this week--a green velvet number with bells—which has proven quite popular with the crowds—that is when they get over their shock and awe at seeing a giant Hound hunting horse poop in Central Park.  A French lady who was thrilled to meet me fingered my pointy head and informed Elizabeth that her grandfather, who raises hunting dogs, maintained that the dogs with the pointiest heads were the best hunters.  I am a fine example of this concept (although my humans have other things that they attribute to pointy heads) although in my case I specialize in hunting things that no one wants me to hunt: horse poop, raccoon poop, miscellaneous poop, discarded food, bread left out for the birds, discarded plastic water bottles, non-discarded plastic water bottles, people eating food, people carrying food, people serving food, small, terrified dogs, large, terrified humans, the neighbor’s cat and of course anything left unattended that  strikes my fancy (which does not include the mice that sometimes invade my apartment; I like their company).

 

Anyway, before I leave you, it occurs to me that the world is supposed to end next week.  If this is the case, there will be no blog post on Friday. Personally, I think my humans should take this seriously and consider all the things they could do for me this week just in case.  Like making a bonfire of my seasonal antlers and hat collection.

Today is Nostradamus’ birthday by the way so apocalyptic things are very much on my mind. It is a little known fact that we Hounds have extraordinarily psychic abilities:

 

Wimsey’s Predictions for 2013

My humans will have no money

My vet will have a lot of money

People will point out to my humans that I am large

People will point out to my humans that I am cute

People will point out to my humans that I am loud

People will point out to my humans that I smell

My humans will point out to people that they too have noticed these things

Someone will want a bloodhound

 

My humans will tell someone who wants a bloodhound not to get a bloodhound

The someone who wants a bloodhound will get a bloodhound and tell my humans about all the bad things it did

I will eat something that I am not supposed to

My humans will clean up the mess that occurs when I eat something that I am not supposed to

Maria’s hamstring will hurt

Elizabeth will visit an orthopedic doctor

The doctor will tell her that a dog did not cause that injury

Elizabeth will assure the doctor that a dog did cause that injury

I will attempt to enter the neighbor’s apartment through the cat flap

I will not be able to enter the neighbor’s apartment through the cat flap

I will decide to sleep the wide way on the bed

Maria will decide to sleep the long way on the couch

 

I will drag Elizabeth to The Lake in Central Park to visit the ducks

I will try to drag Elizabeth into the Lake in Central Park to visit the ducks

Elizabeth will yell at me

I won’t care that Elizabeth is yelling at me

Sales of Tanqueray will rise

Nostradamus isn’t the only one who could see the future.  Anyway, I think I will leave it there for this week (unless of course the world ends next Friday and then I will be leaving it there on a more permanent basis).

Until next time (hopefully)

Wimsey, Psychic.