Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #343

Entry #343

March 8, 2014

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I am not pleased to announce that I have had a Very Boring Week. In fact, this has been one of THE most boring weeks that I can remember and as usual it is the fault of my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth, who have failed utterly to provide suitable entertainment for a Hound of my fun seeking proclivities. Waiting for spring does not constitute entertainment, although it seems that we are going to be waiting a while longer yet, in spite of some mild temperatures that are on their way over the next few days. All this is by way of saying that there will not be much of a post this week or many pictures. But let’s review the week anyway, shall we, since any time that I am absent I get emails inquiring as to whether I’ve come down with some horrible disease. No one has any imagination--there could be some livelier reasons for my absences:

I have been abducted by aliens.

I have been abducted by aliens and then returned (I wonder why?) so am being examined by NASA.

I have been abducted by aliens and injected with nanoprobes that removed my “personality” and made me so well behaved that I have nothing to write about.

I have been abducted by aliens and exiled to a planet with no Internet connection owing to having chewed up their stuff. Or maybe it was for stealing their food. Or digging up their plants. Or the smell. Or the drool. Or the hair. Or…

(I do confess, however, that although I have not come down with a dread disease, I do have an infected toe for which I am taking another round of expensive antibiotics and my humans did not want me out and about as much as usual). 

Anyway, first let me say that you know it’s been a boring week when the whole focus of it has not been anything concerning me. Instead it’s been all about mai tai’s. Yes, you heard correctly, mai tai's.  Elizabeth has decided that she has an urgent need to recreate the alcoholic part of her Hawaiian vacation and to share it with Maria (and of course, me—I am very big on sharing when it comes to other people’s things). Elizabeth has, after all, a successful track record with re-creating the caipirinha from her visits to Rio. The caipirinha is to Elizabeth what the madeleine was to Proust—one sip and she can no longer smell me, hear me or feel the pain of my 130lb tush on her lap but is instantly transported to that festive city by the sea where she can walk without having to disgorge dog snacks at frequent intervals. 

But I digress. Now both my humans are tough to please in the cocktail department because they like drinks that are not sweet and have plenty of EtOH.  As it turns out, mai tai’s, contrary to their image, fulfill these criteria. So Elizabeth emailed the hotel where she had her favorite mai tai and they graciously gave her the recipe which then kicked off a frenzy of mai tai related activities.

Now whereas listening to detailed discussions about mai tai’s on our walks is an improvement over listening to my humans’ usual conversations about such subjects as broccoli or quince (I am seriously not kidding about these conversations), I have a limited tolerance for debates about 1) how to pronounce  “orgeat” 2) what exactly is “orgeat” 3) where can one obtain “orgeat” 4) why “orgeat” only comes in giant bottles--- with nary a concern about what  “orgeat” smells like and whether I will like it.

 

Then there is the matter of procuring orange curacao, which is also apparently problematic since most stores only carry the blue kind. This led to extensive discussions about what exactly is the difference between Triple Sec, Cointreau and Orange Curacao and why orange curacao is the one that only comes in giant bottles.  Amazingly again, there was no discussion as to which one I would prefer. Then there was the whole Pineapple Dilemma—is Dole pineapple juice acceptable or does it have sugar added and is the bottled, organic pulped pineapple juice from Fairway a better option. Then they downloaded videos of how to make pineapple juice. All I can say is that the rapt attention with which they watched tutorials on “How to Juice A Pineapple” should only be reserved for matters related to my health and comfort. Next there was the frantic scramble for some kind of juicer to make sweet and sour mix from lemons and limes and a debate about whose responsibility this should be.  So far the only thing that they managed to purchase: “orgeat.” And this was the highlight of the week.

But here just so you can see how bad it’s been around here (if the mai tai’s didn’t convince you):

Wimsey’s Boring Week in Review

Sunday: Sunday we all went to Central Park where I “found” LARPERS.  These are Live Action Role Play people who always have cool swords and costumes and whose activities I can disrupt and whose bags of stuff I always try to investigate.  I am searching for suitable medieval Chien de St. Hubert accessories--although I am not really a battle dog—I am much more of an “annoy the enemy to death” kind of dog. Anyway, our walk was supposed to be short because of my toe but owing to the visit with the LARPERS, some of the pedicab guys and going the opposite way that my humans wanted to, I managed to stretch the walk out to two hours.

Monday: Monday disaster struck. Elizabeth was summoned to a Tuesday day of meetings in midtown for which she needed attire that was conservative and undrooled upon—a tough ask for someone who spends a lot of time with a bloodhound.  She left me alone after our afternoon walk to shop for these garments where the helpful sales assistant urged her buy the skintight pencil skirt and “juge” the sleeves of a jacket so she didn’t look so dull. I myself would have had a few other suggestions to embellish the outfit but Elizabeth brought home an unjuged jacket and a pair of trousers that she could breathe in. I was horrified to find, however, that these were encased in a garment bag that she immediately hid in the closet. To add insult to injury there was a pristine white silk blouse in there—my favorite!   And what of my other human? It’s March which is something called “reporting season” which means that Maria is home late every night so I get to hang out with Elizabeth even more. Elizabeth loves reporting season.

Tuesday: Tuesday was even worse than Monday. Elizabeth went to a morning meeting, changed (and hid those clothes again—I think they would look better if I juged them!) and was late picking me up for my afternoon walk.   As soon as we got to her apartment she barricaded herself in the bathroom with the garment bag and ran out before I could even get in a decent sniff or a fling. Then both my humans were late for my evening walk and they refused to let me drag them into the ice-covered field that I like but instead kept pleading with me to stop annoying them for snacks and relieve myself. These things cannot be rushed.

Wednesday: Highlight of day—walking part of the way to Central Park with my two fawn Frenchie buddies, Harley and Griffith. Funny how I get mistaken for a mastiff all the time but never for a Frenchie.

 

Thursday: Maria actually showed up for my evening walk so I took both my humans on an evening visit to Unleashed where I usually take Elizabeth in the afternoons. Elizabeth showed Maria how I diligently inspect all the merchandise and then extort a cookie from a staff member.  In honor of both my humans being present, I actually ate the cookie--—usually I extort the cookie and then spit it out. The important thing is being served the cookie, not necessarily eating it.

And then we come to Friday where, inspired by my visit to Unleashed, I took Elizabeth on a visit to Furry Paws. She acquiesced to the visit to celebrate the fact that I had just pooped and continues to labor under the misapprehension (all evidence to the contrary) that if she rewards me for good behavior I will engage in more of it.  Then she took a break from researching the history of mai tai’s to help write a press release for my brewery, Baying Hound Aleworks. It turns out that after much hard work and drama the brewery received a license to sell pints of my fine ale, and will commence doing so in a couple of weeks.  So if you are in the Rockville, Maryland vicinity stop by and have a pint and a chat with Paul, one of my Honorary Humans, a fervid Hound man and the brewery’s founder.  And Brewdog Bernie (who is sadly only ¼ bloodhound) might be on hand to contribute some slobber.

So that was my week.  Hope yours was more interesting. Elizabeth did try to alleviate some of the toe tedium by cooking me a nice pot of chicken and buying me off with a bully stick, which I immediately took up on the futon and then kept throwing off so she could retrieve it for me. Like I said, it’s the being served that counts.  And there is talk of actually making mai tai’s this weekend, but after all the planning it’s bound to be pretty anticlimactic, especially as I am sure that they taste better when sitting on a beach in Hawaii instead of in an apartment in Manhattan. Especially when the glass in Manhattan is garnished with Hound drool instead of a paper umbrella.

I am now off to officially wait for spring and the chance to infuriate my humans by ignoring my new kuranda bed and napping on the gravel in the backyard.

Until next time,

Wimsey, a juge-mental Hound