Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #342

Entry #342

February 21, 2014

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where climactic conditions are imposing their own version of the Winter Olympics on anyone trying to get around, let alone anyone trying to get around with a Hound. My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth have no need to go to Sochi to experience the joys of winter sport, although many of these events are not being shown on TV. Maria, for instance, regularly competes in the “Walking a Giant Hound Before Having Coffee” event and on Thursday Elizabeth participated in the “Walking A Giant Hound Under the Influence of Valium” event owing to the fact that she had to have her teeth cleaned and is afraid of dentists. Like the Winter Olympics, these spectacles generally prove very entertaining to those watching them and I certainly do my best to contribute to the fun. Given the snowy weather we’ve been having, my humans are also very familiar with events involving aerials, moguls and slopestyle but none of these involve skis and all of them involve leashes, danger and a snow-loving Hound.

 

But before I continue to regale you with stories of my winter sports prowess, I do want to tell you how much I enjoyed reminiscing last week about my days in the show ring and my introduction of the innovative Trop (a cross between a pace and a trot), the Stalk Stack and the Stack Dance.  These were in addition to my tendency to bay and to gait either with my nose on the ground or looking around at the scenery. (As an aside we ran into a woman yesterday who said she enjoyed listening to my cavaletti practice in the park). Personally, I think my exploits should be required reading for anyone considering showing a bloodhound just as my blog should be required reading for anyone considering acquiring one.  And anyone reading should also remember 1) I am not making any of this stuff up and 2) I am actually considered to be a well-behaved bloodhound (OK, maybe not in the show ring) because I have not actually eaten my way through the drywall or consumed the couch. So if you want a dog that will bolster your ego, make you feel appreciated and give you that warm and fuzzy feeling, look elsewhere. We do the opposite. And our version of warm and fuzzy generally involves teeth and the unauthorized use of your fleece clothing.

 

I bring all this up, because generally my humans try to be grateful for the good things in their lives, which for reasons of either mental illness or the fact that I am so cute includes me. They try to think of me as a “gift.” But apparently this week I made it very hard for them and it certainly seemed like I was a gift that they would have liked to regift. It could be because they spent the Presidents' Day holiday and the GNP of a small nation having my toe investigated down at the specialist dermatologist. Or perhaps it was this Wednesday when Elizabeth came to pick me up for my afternoon walk and I decided I’d much rather she rubbed my tummy while I napped on the bed instead, then, once out, rolled around in the slush in my raincoat instead of pooping, then ate lunch anyway and filled her apartment with noxious gas, then decided that on my after work walk that I no longer wished to eat the snacks that I preferred on the previous after work walk but wanted the snacks that Maria did not bring enough of because I usually prefer the other ones, then decided that I would walk in 10 feet increments before refusing to move until these  snacks were forthcoming, then decided that I wished to visit Furry Paws and carried on outside when prevented from going in. There was an awful lot of repeating the mantra “Wimsey is a gift. Wimsey is a gift. Wimsey is a gift….” And then there is my new obsession with spending a goodly chunk of time rolling in the snow even though it is rapidly becoming slush and I became filthy in record time after my Tuesday bath.

And speaking of this bath, I announced the advent of spring by upping my shedding quotient all over the bathroom. This is my annual preliminary run up to a full coat blow wherein with every shake I shed hair like a porcupine sheds quills.  And although my humans were heartened that this means that spring is around the corner they wish that its arrival was heralded by normal things like daffodils and robins and not the need to buy more vacuum cleaner bags. But we’re not out of the winter woods yet even though this week’s thaw has turned much of Manhattan into a lake. It is going back into the 20s next week which means that my humans will enjoy a bit of figure skating at best and speed skating at worst, especially since given a choice of walking on ice or on pavement (when they are not the same thing) I have a strong predilection for walking on ice. I give a whole new meaning to the term Icecapades, but fortunately for my humans there is an Urgent Care center close by.

I am afraid that I will have to leave it there for this week—I apologize for the short post but I spent a good chunk of the afternoon in Central Park trying to take advantage of the dwindling snow and engaging in some serious and much needed regriming.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the gift that keeps on giving