December 21, 2012
Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you from the Upper West Side of Manhattan which still exists owing to the fact that the world neglected to terminate itself today. Of course it is possible that the world did terminate itself today and that no one on the
Upper West Side noticed. Its residents are too busy battling each other at Fairway, Citarella and Zabars collecting delicious Christmas comestibles. My human Maria went to Zabars today to join the fray and her friend (my auxiliary human) Elizabeth spent quite a bit of time in Citarella yesterday.
This latter visit turned out to be unexpectedly productive when Elizabeth informed her fish guy Steve (who is really one of my great admirers despite his propensity to refer to me as a horse) that I was a tad fond of salmon (I have been known to mow down humans in an attempt to reach a bowl with salmon in it). As a result of this cozy piscine chat I have been promised my very own, personal salmon head. My humans will not be permitted to consume any part of this delectable treat—it is all for me! (“All for me” being one of the most beautiful phrases in the English language).
Anyway, my humans have been debating the best way to prepare my salmon head when it finally arrives. I myself was thinking Poached Fish Head Bordelaise aux Truffes. And I have already located the truffes—this is our local truffle store (doesn’t every neighborhood have a local truffle store?). While its 59th Street location makes it a bit too far south to be technically on the Upper West Side it is within easy towing distance. I was very eager to get to know these truffles better but was cruelly thwarted in my attempt. My humans’ credit cards are still reeling from my last visit to vet (a spot of pricey ear gunk and eye gunk) and the thought of me loose in a truffle shop was enough to make Elizabeth keep a death grip on her American Express Card. Nevertheless, in addition to my keen hunting abilities that enable me to locate discarded food, horse poop (at least my humans hope it is horse poop) and plastic water bottles I can now add my ability to find exorbitantly expensive fungi.
But it has been a very busy week around here overall. On Sunday another attempt was made to photograph me in my seasonal headgear but the enterprise was fortunately once again completely rained out. And as a bonus I managed to cover myself in mud which is always a desirable state of affairs. At least for me. I also managed to consume 12 cups of kibble (I free feed) which meant that for the next 48 hours my humans ran around with giant reinforced baggies to collect the results.
It’s also been a very successful week in my ongoing struggle to send Elizabeth (who takes care of me during the day) to the mental health clinic or to the neighborhood bar. Part of the problem was her insistence that I pose in my antlers and elf hat---by the way wouldn’t this make a splendid Christmas picture if only we knew this guy? His wife was taking the picture as my photo shoots tend to attract quite a bit of attention—especially the ones where I try to eat the antlers. Anyway, a week of Elizabeth trying to get some acceptable antler and hat shots put me in a rather rambunctious and demanding mood—principally this took the form of constantly insisting that Elizabeth feed me my new cheesy snacks of which I am inordinately fond (in addition to my usual photographic fee of fistfuls of turkey). I also required that my walks be a minimum of two hours long each day—although getting me out of the park after only two hours entailed feats of strength worthy of Festivus.
And I once again managed to crash a bride’s wedding video—she was entering Central Park in full bridal regalia at the park entrance closest to the lakeside Ladies Pavilion that is a popular spot for weddings. This also happens to be the park entrance closest to the pedicabs which is a popular spot for me getting loud. Where there are pedicabs there are pedicab drivers and where there are pedicab drivers there is me greeting them with my customary acoustic robustness. And addition to providing a unique sound track to the bride’s wedding video, the bride will also be able to visually admire me for many years to come towing Elizabeth in her direction in the background. Now no event in New York would be complete without comments from the peanut gallery and in addition to my own modest contribution a bystander commented (above the din) “Wow! People are still getting married. What a leap of faith!” in the manner of someone just itching to provide the bride with the name of a good divorce attorney. A true New York moment.
But before I wholly leave the subject of the antler pictures, here is one of my favorites. The baying just somehow negates the whole reindeer effect, doesn’t it? Everyone would certainly know that Santa was in the house (or at least that his reindeer was on the roof). In any case, all the obnoxious photographic activity this week induced a major attack of the “wherever you want to go I want to go somewhere elses” that my humans find so endearing.
Anyhow, I put on a masterful display of bloodhound nose prowess this week as well. I took off cross country in a very determined fashion during Wednesday’s extended park perambulation causing the trailing Elizabeth to wonder if her friend Nancy was in the park with her new baby. Nancy may have been in the park with her new baby but so was a large mound of horse poop, into which I dove face first. In between the “I hate you’s” and the dragging me out of the mound of horse poop Elizabeth had to admit that this was an amazing example of my prodigious olfactory abilities. What can I say—some use their powers for good and others use our powers for personal gain. And the personal gain that goes in must come out. In the case of horse poop it inevitably comes out as a mess of manure smelling mush. Not my problem.
Then on Thursday I took off cross country again but this time I towed Elizabeth out of the 81st Street entrance to the park and over to Broadway. I had picked up the wafting scent of the Snack Dispending Jewelry Lady—one of my favorite neighborhood characters (apart from salmon head Steve, my new BFF). Jewelry Lady sets up her table periodically and when she does it is well worth a nice, loud visit (even when she is not there her scent lingers and I usually refuse to move from the spot on the theory that the scent must eventually produce the human—an offshoot of the theory of spontaneous generation). So I carried on as usual (she had to wipe the drool off of her car when I left) and as is my custom, I spat out the treats that she offered until I ascertained that no better ones were forthcoming. Then I consumed fistfuls of the available ones much to her delight. I love the joy she conveys when she watches me eat. I want to go to her house for the holidays.
Finally, yesterday I put on my elf hat and delivered some gifts (other than my pricey gunky eyes, gunky ears and anal glands) to the vet’s office. I gave them a selection of fine chocolates from our neighborhood Jacques Torres store. I am not permitted to eat chocolate but my human Maria is a connoisseur and she assured Elizabeth and I that they were very tasty. Elizabeth is not a connoisseur of anything edible, liquids being more in her line, but that’s probably because she spends too much time with me.
Well Christmas is a very festive season and nowhere more so than in New York City—the sights (me in my green velvet ruff with bells), the smells (my splendid Houndy odor) and of course the Sounds (the sound of me baying because I want to pee on the Christmas trees). But let us look in on Dick and Jane and see what kind of Christmas they are having:
Dick and Jane’s Christmas
See Dick. See Jane. See Dick’s Christmas tree. Dick’s Christmas tree is very pretty. Dick’s Christmas tree is decorated with many candy canes. Dick and Jane like candy canes. Here comes Dick’s Hound. Dick’s Hound also likes candy canes. See Dick’s Hound eat all the candy canes. “Oh no!” says Dick. “Oh no,” says Jane. See Dick’s Hound get sick all over the carpet from eating the candy canes.
See all the presents under the tree. Red boxes and blue boxes and green boxes! Dick wonders what is in the boxes. Jane wonders what is in the boxes. Dick and Jane will have to wait until Christmas to find out what is in the boxes. Dick’s Hound also wonders what is in the boxes. Dick’s Hound will not have to wait until Christmas to find out what is in the boxes.
See the Christmas antlers. See Dick put the Christmas antlers on his Hound’s head. See Dick’s Hound eat the Christmas antlers that Dick has put on his Hound’s head.
See Dick’s Hound get sick all over the carpet from eating the antlers that Dick has put on his Hound’s head.
See Dick’s Christmas tree. Dick’s Christmas tree is very beautiful. Dick’s Christmas tree has many branches. Dick likes to look at these branches. Jane likes to look at these branches. Dick’s Hound also likes these branches. But not to look at them. Now Dick’s Christmas tree does not have many branches.
See the puddle. See the puddle under Dick’s Christmas tree. See the yellow puddle under Dick’s Christmas tree. See Dick’s Hound drink water. See Dick’s Hound drink a lot of water. Eating candy canes, antlers, presents and branches is dehydrating.
See Dick. See Jane. “There is no Christmas,” says Dick. “There is no Christmas,” says Jane. See Dick’s father. Dick’s father says, “Christmas is about peace and love and friends and family. Christmas is not about candy canes. Christmas is not about presents. Christmas is not about a tree.
See Dick and Jane cry.
Well I think with that moving story I will leave you. The world did not end on December 21st but it is Thomas Beckett’s birthday. Tom Beckett is a very relevant guy around here because Elizabeth frequently calls Maria and says, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent Hound!” By which she means “your Hound is driving me crazy, come get him immediately!” When Elizabeth starts quoting Henry II things are very serious indeed and Maria remembers that it didn’t end too well for Thomas Beckett.
Anyway, I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas and an intact Christmas tree.
Until next time,
Wimsey, Santa’s most uncooperative elf