Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #291

Entry #291

January 11, 2013

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the balmy temperatures have made for some oddly Spring-like conditions leading me to hope that my winter wardrobe has been banished for the season. My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth keep reminding me that it is only the second week of January and that there is ample time for them to caparison me in my winter finery.  I’m hoping for more global warming.

And speaking of it being the second week in January, I will be taking two Fridays off from blogging to protest Elizabeth’s absconding to Istanbul and London for her birthday (although visiting a country called Turkey sounds delightful but it would be better if its capital was called Sautéed Liver).

I severely disapprove of either of my humans leaving me and Maria is not looking forward to using her lunch hour to run home and walk a grumpy Hound who will try incessantly to drag her to Elizabeth’s apartment.  She is considering bringing my monstrously large and ever-growing toy pile from Elizabeth’s abode to our own so I will not feel so deprived.  Those of you who read this blog know that I spend my days with Elizabeth who picks me up at midday for a lovely, fun filled walk (not) that frequently involves me dragging her to pet stores on urgent toy pile augmentation missions.  And generally the first thing I do when I enter her apartment is to charge over to my toy pile, inventory it and squeak its latest addition in her face while she tries to remove my harness.

As you may imagine I always enjoy being out and about in the afternoons with Elizabeth and yesterday an entire family was happily petting me until I gave one mighty shake of my head and managed to slime every one of them.  I fortunately had just demanded a supply of cookies from Elizabeth’s treat pouch so my flews were well provisioned with an exceptional quantity of drool.  Standing in close proximity to a prodigiously drool producing Hound is always a precarious position but standing in close proximity to one who has been recently consuming snacks is asking for some serious dry cleaning bills.  Fortunately Elizabeth did warn the family that I drool, but saying that I drool is like saying that Hurricane Sandy was moist.   

Anyway, I apologize for the paucity of pictures —I was in fact ill at the beginning of the week and so in no mood to pose—or more accurately, in less of a mood to pose than I usually am when a camera appears. And I’m afraid that the position in which I was most likely to be found on those days was not exactly one that my humans or I wanted preserved for posterity.  I managed to overindulge on Sunday in my version of dumpster diving.  It turns out that Central Park is chock a block with lovely leaf piles that conceal all manner of delectable comestibles (rotting food, non-rotting food, the poop of miscellaneous animals, etc.)  Which are invisible to the human eye but not fortunately (or unfortunately) to the bloodhound nose.  I repeatedly dove enthusiastically into these leaf piles and emerged chewing and swallowing amid squeals of dismay from my humans.

My humans find my garbage hunting proclivities especially egregious because not only do I free
feed and thus have access to large, nutritious bowls of premium kibble 24/7 but I also have access to assorted other goodies such as yams, turkey, salmon, eggs chicken, etc. that find their way into my food bowl.  And this doesn’t even account for the fact that my humans carry a minimum of 3 kinds of cookies on our walks in addition to a quantity of turkey.  So   I am not exactly on short rations.  But I consider garbage hunting a sport and like most sports it is essentially pointless but a lot of fun – at least until the consequences set in.

And owing to those consequences I pretty much spent Monday and Tuesday with my backside in a bush. I was feeling better by Wednesday but a quiet day was thought best, hence the lack of photos and antics this week.  But Elizabeth has been having so much fun with her language translation app that her phone can now scream  ‘Wimsey get your head out of there!” at me in Turkish. I’m sure she’ll find that very useful.

Anyway, I will be back with you in a couple of weeks—meanwhile I am off to plot my leaving me for vacation revenge.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Muhteşem Hound (The Magnificent Hound—unless the translation software knows me and substituted the annoying, horrible Hound instead)