Entry # 308
June 7, 2013
Hello, Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey, coming to you from the soggy precincts of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the wet weather is proving no impediment to my desire to be outdoors accompanied by my wet and dripping human Maria and her equally moist friend Elizabeth. I think they smell delightful when they are wet, but I gather that the feeling is not reciprocal as rain releases my inner pungent Hound (which smells a lot like my outer pungent Hound, only worse). Maria recently purchased a dehumidifier—she tells everyone it is because of the apartment but I know that it is because of me. It is astonishing how much moisture I can carry around in my coat for subsequent dispersal on the furniture (my humans actually wring out my wrinkles after I am bathed in a vain attempt to accelerate the drying process). But before the rains came we had several days of hot, humid weather whose only redeeming feature was that it caused a run up in my humans’ air conditioner bill on my account.
And on Sunday the climactic conditions caused my park walk to turn into my park lie down, sit down and roll down. But we did run into these fine mounted police officers who were the very same ones that I saw here last year covering an event on Fifth Avenue. And once again I was offered the opportunity to climb up into the van and get to know one of these giant beasts up close and personal and once again I declined in favor of trying to explore their nether regions and the snacks therein.
After this harrowing equine experience I went home with Elizabeth because Maria had a social event to attend (although why anyone should want to socialize with Maria without me, I have no idea; certainly no one we meet on the street is the least bit interested in her and a lot interested in me). This meant that Elizabeth got to sit with me through Thunderstorm Time, when I drool and stare fixedly ahead waiting for the world to end and she reassures me that it is only the Great Hound God Drule knocking over his humans’ furniture again.
Now generally I trust Elizabeth, since it was she who taught me everything I know about Annoying Hound Rituals. But then again I have a great deal of natural talent in the area of being annoying. And each time I display one of these rituals (for instance before exiting Elizabeth’s building yesterday for my after work walk, she had to leave something at the front desk and left me for 30 seconds; when she came back I poked her forcefully in the treat pouch and waited for The Cookie of Return to appear), Maria always harrumphs and says “Who taught him that?!” even though she knows the answer (and has to live with the answer) very well. And the response is always, “It’s a ritual. Dogs like rituals.” And I especially like rituals since they always seem to involve feeding me something nice. I believe that I am simply employing the “nothing is for free” principle of dog training, with a minor Hound twist. And every time there is a discussion about how I am not very bright I remind my humans of all the excellent things that I have learned:
Never allow one’s collar and harness to be put on without being offered a snack (coats cost extra snacks).
Never walk over the threshold without being offered a door snack (preferably ostrich jerky-the crack cocaine of the canine world).
Never permit Maria to leave for work without being offered a goodbye snack (preferably foie gras biscuits from a tony bakery).
Never get into a bathtub unless there are fistfuls of turkey involved.
Never stay in a bathtub unless there are fistfuls of turkey involved.
Standing by a water fountain will cause a human to kneel in front of you with your own personal bowl of water.
Staring at Maria at home will cause a water bowl with drool in it to be replaced with a water bowl without drool in it.
Staring at Maria at home will cause an empty kibble bowl to become a full kibble bowl.
Staring at Elizabeth in her apartment will cause a full kibble bowl to become a full kibble bowl with turkey, yam, pumpkin and/or other assorted leftovers in it.
Staring at either human during a walk will cause a cookie to appear.
Climbing into a humans’ lap causes scratching and petting to happen.
Staring at Elizabeth whilst lying on the futon causes scratching and petting to happen.
Thwacking a human with a paw causes scratching and petting to happen.
Rolling over causes my belly to be rubbed.
Staring at a human eating something desirable and drooling all over the floor causes food sharing to happen.
Spitting out a large piece of food causes it to be broken into bite-sized pieces and hand fed it to me.
Pooping while positioning my butt over or through fence railings causes my humans not to be able to pick it up.
Squeaking my Hedgehog in Elizabeth’s face causes a walk to happen.
Squeaking my Doggie in Maria’s face causes a walk to happen.
Turning into dead weight and refusing to move causes a walk not to happen.
Baying loudly causes people to give me things that I want.
Squeaking pathetically causes people to feel sorry for me and give me things that I want.
Sitting on my humans causes them to make noises like my favorite squeaky toys.
Spending time with me causes my humans to look stupid.
Spending time with me causes my humans to use HBO words.
Spending time with me causes my humans to need strong cocktails.
So I think I am quite an intelligent Hound. I have learned all life’s important lessons (and no one has ever accused me of not stopping to smell the roses--or to pee on them) and have cleansed my mind of unimportant trivia, such as those associated with the vastly overrated obeying of commands.
But when it comes to being obnoxious I cannot stress enough the importance of attention to detail. For instance, this week I found a tennis ball on Amsterdam Avenue and decided that I had an urgent need to play soccer with it. Now nothing is quite as disruptive to the flow of pedestrian traffic as a giant Hound playing soccer with a fast moving tennis ball. Nor did I evince any interest in heading over to the park with it. Later that day when Elizabeth and I were strolling in Central Park’s broad fields I happened upon another tennis ball. I ignored it. I mean what would be the point of playing soccer with a tennis ball in a venue in which one was supposed to play soccer with a tennis ball? Or what could be more annoying than my predilection on hot, humid days for eschewing the leafy greenness of the two major parks that are close by for a walk along scorching city streets that cause Elizabeth to drip sweat on me and say bad words? Or today when I decided that I fancied a long walk in the pouring rain in the water and mud logged fields of Central Park and decided to inspect a variety of fields in minute detail before selecting a spot upon which to poop. In spite of Elizabeth teaching my some excellent rituals, talent like mine is born, not made.
Anyway, in other exciting news, my Frenchie buddy Pluto has gone into business! It all started when his humans were on a trip to Paris and the woman who ran their hotel had a Frenchie called Bertrand and a ring that looked just like him. Further investigations led to a French artist living in Italy who was the creator of this masterpiece and thus it was that Pluto-Art (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pluto-Art/452875591453336?fref=ts) was born. They’ve got lots of plans for product roll outs but if you want a ring crafted to look like your dog, give them a call.
I myself would like both my humans to have rings of me for those odd times when I can’t be with them in person. The ring would remind them that:
When they are eating in a restaurant they should cut their portions in half and have it wrapped for me
When I am alone they should curtail their activities, no matter how enjoyable, and come watch me nap
When they are passing car rental places they should rent me an SUV because I like to drive
When they pass a pet store they should pop in and buy me a toy with a loud squeaker that I can play with when the telephone rings.
When they are grocery shopping they should scour the aisles for items acceptable to the refined Wimsey palate
And of course the ring would remind them when they pass a liquor store that they need some more gin.
The only question is whether the ring should depict me in full demanding bay or with my ears jammed forward giving them “The Stare.”
Well I think I will leave it there for now. The weather report is calling for a lot more rain. It’s a good thing I have three raincoats.
Until next time,
Wimsey, pungent, proud and pesky