April 6, 2013
Hello Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey* coming to you after my holiday hiatus from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where everyone has been demanding that early Spring predicting groundhog’s blood. (*Really I should say “it is I, Wimsey” but after so many years of having “who’s walking who” instead of “who’s walking whom” yelled at me, my grammatical standards, if not my leash yanking ones, have slackened considerably.) Let us just say that the temperatures have been a bit brisk around here and that my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have for once been amenable to being sat upon by a giant, toasty warm Hound (bruises not included). However, whether they are amenable or not, sit upon them I will, since as a petite, comfort seeking lapdog it is a very enjoyable experience. At least for me.
Well, can you believe that this is the 300th episode of a diary devoted to the fascinating subject of my life and activities! My humans would be afraid that it would go to my head except that there is very little room up there owing to all the space that is taken up by inputs from my nose and my stomach. In fact, I have so little neuronal processing power that I am frequently incapable of accepting any information from my other senses such as my ears (I don’t hear my humans yell “Wimsey, no!” or “Wimsey stop that!” or (fatuously) “Wimsey get your nose out of there!”) or from my eyes (I don't see my humans walk in a different direction from the one in which I am going or to notice that there are strolling humans blocking the path down which I am barreling). I do, however, reserve a few megabytes for hearing the rustle of the package containing my bribing door snacks or for the sound of Elizabeth sitting down on the couch and opening a newspaper or for the refrigerator door opening. And although I frequently fail to see my humans I do seem to be able to see other humans who are eating desirable foods at outdoor cafes or who are clutching crunchy plastic water bottles.
Anyway, I am sure everyone is eager to hear how I have been spending the last two weeks so I thought I would use some photographs to illustrate—a picture is after all worth a thousand words and a picture of a loquacious Hound such as myself is worth a good deal more than that. But first let me say that my human Maria has been busy with very late nights at work and so for my comfort (and her sanity) I have been staying over at Elizabeth’s quite a bit. Those of you who read this blog know how much I enjoy staying with Elizabeth (a sentiment which sadly is not reciprocated unless there is a lot of gin involved) principally because I find so many ways to bother, inconvenience, incommode and generally make a nuisance of myself at her place-- everything from having late night conversations with Hedgie, my giant hedgehog to demanding that she come into the kitchen and admire me while I eat (I hate eating alone). And I also need her pant leg to use as a napkin when I have finished consuming my meal.
But I digress. This week I am presenting an annotated guide to photos of some of my favorite activities.
So as usual a big part of any week is being admired and petted by the Hound loving public. Notice that these ladies are prudently standing out of drool smearing range. My humans are thinking of patenting a mechanical hand on a stick (a very long stick) for hygienic Hound petting. Top questions my humans get in this situation: Is he friendly, can I pet him and does he bite. (answers: Yes but he drools, yes but he drools and no but he drools).
Here I am in one of my favorite positions. You have heard me refer in the past to standing on my head--well this is what it looks like. I also sometimes spin in this position. It's a bloodhound thing. Or maybe a Wimsey thing. Or possibly a crazy dog thing.
OK, so here I am just sitting around nicely in the park, right? Wrong. I have just parked my tush in the dirt and am refusing to move until a piece of turkey is forthcoming (the vertical string of drool is the giveaway--I am, as usual, anticipating a successful outcome to my efforts and making sure that I have sufficient salivary resources available to process my prize.
This is me giving my humans the patented Wimsey glare. Why? Notice that my head is pointed in one direction--the one that my humans intend walking in, whilst my body is pointed in another direction--the one in which I intend walking in. Guess which way we're going?
This is me conducting a lengthy investigation of a hillside. It is entirely coincidental that Elizabeth is standing on a path that leads to the path that leads to the park exit.
Elizabeth is now waving a piece of turkey in hopes of convincing me to curtail my exploratory activities and to possibly decide that I might like to go home some time this decade. Such weighty decisions require careful consideration however and cannot be rushed.
We're finally on the way home but progress can be slow owing to the need to take frequent, restorative turkey breaks.
On another day (every day, really) I am about to drag Elizabeth into my favorite pet shop, Unleashed-- home of the Hedgies and the gourmet cookie bar and the admiring staff!
Here is the result of Elizabeth proffering turkey to get me to leave Unleashed and to continue our walk and perhaps even do something radical like pee.
Looks like I am taking another turkey break, right? Wrong. I am conducting a sit down strike. If you magnify the awning in the background right hand side of the photo you will see that it says "Furry Paws." What can I say--I am a Hound shopaholic. One of the many reasons that my walks require an entire fun-filled afternoon to conduct.
The Museum of Natural History is in the background here. As you can see I have no intention of leaving this area. People picnic here. And where there are picnics there are picnic remains. I consider it my solemn, civic duty to clean these up. It's a tough job but some huge, hungry garbage hunting Hound has to do it.
Aren't those flower beds in the background pretty? I just pooped in them. Fertilizing the flower beds is just one of my many horticultural duties.
Here is a picture of the guy who runs my favorite pedicab stand. Also a tourist from Scotland who wants to take my picture. Also his son who is eating a pretzel.
That pretzel is looking mighty tasty.
And here I am baying at the kid to fork over that tasty pretzel. I don't have the pictures but the father did feed it to me--torn up into the nice bite sized pieces that I prefer naturally. Bay and you shall receive. Works for me.
Another one of my important civic duties is to inspect packages and ensure that they do not contain anything dangerous like sandwiches or salamis or cookies that I then must confiscate.
And here I am being thanked for my dilligence by members of the grateful public. I am determined to keep them safe. And thin.
Well I think I will leave it there for this week. And next week when you look at my photos remember that they are often (or always) not exactly what they seem. I am off to plop myself down on a park bench and wait for Spring. Or for a fist full of turkey. Or for some nice tourist to donate a sandwich.
Until next time,
Wimsey--good things come in drooly, hard to move packages