Entry #350
June 6, 2014
Hello Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey! I am back again at my post
(no pun intended) here on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, where owing to my human
Maria and her friend Elizabeth being busy and me being lazy, I have not had a
chance to write a single word. Two whole
weeks without there being any news about me. It’s tragic.
Anyway, as those of you who follow my doings know, Elizabeth
was busy with meetings in New York and Boston last week, which meant that ONCE
AGAIN Maria had to come walk me in the middle of the day and to minister to my
many needs. I do not like when this happens. And when a Hound does not like
something to happen it generally does not happen. Now when Elizabeth comes to
pick me up at midday she puts ointment in my eyes, cleans out my ears, puts
drops in them, brushes my teeth and puts antibiotic ointment on my toe. All this happens whilst I sit enthroned on
the Tribute Couch receiving cooing accolades on my good behavior and receiving
Elizabeth’s undivided attention, which I find quite pleasing. And also as many of you know, I am a Hound of
Fixed Opinions and one of them is that my humans are like apps—they each have a
different function, so when Maria tries to medicate me it’s like calling a taxi
with Uber and getting the weather instead. The upshot of all this is, is that
Elizabeth was on the receiving end (for once) of irate emails about my lack of
cooperation (i.e., fleeing) vis my
treatments and how she is likely to find a medical mess when she returns
because I would not permit Maria to come near me with any of the necessary
stuff.
I mean as The Hound in Charge I do have to enforce division
of labor discipline or else there would be chaos (by which I mean chaos that I
have not created). I would never know who is doing what and when. If there is
any element of surprise to be doled out I need to be the one responsible. As
in, “Surprise! That sandwich you turned
your back on for a micro second is gone” or “Surprise! There is no longer any
dirty underwear to wash” or “Surprise! I did some gardening,” etc.
Anyway, apparently the lack of recent practice in taking
care of me has resulted in some very sloppy caretaking on Elizabeth’s part. She
forgot to boil my chicken breasts for my lunch the way she always does on Monday—her
apartment is so fragrant on Mondays that my nose practically twitches off my
snout—and was forced to substitute hard boiled eggs instead. Fortunately, I
enjoy hard boiled eggs, but like everything else that is prepared for me, I
demand pieces of a certain size and feel compelled to reject pieces of things
that are either too small or too big. So on Monday, I had no sooner put the
snout into the trough, so to speak, when I noticed an unacceptably large piece
of hard boiled egg. This I immediately
removed from my bowl, dropped on the floor in front of Elizabeth (I like my
humans to stand around and admire me while I eat) and glared at her. After once slicing my duck hearts into pieces
that I considered too large, she really should know better. I’m not even going to complain (again) about
the lack of sufficient butter on my baked yams.
So what else is new? I was about to report an unprecedented
absence from the vet’s office but this is not strictly speaking true. My humans
did not like the look of the growth on my toe (there are plans afoot to freeze
it off with cryosurgery at some point) and I had been engaging in a bit of a
flap-a-thon so I was in fact taken to the vet. However, in the 24 hours between
the symptoms and my appointment I underwent another one of those Wimsey Pre-Vet
Appointment Miracle Cures (the ones that have the vets scratching their heads
and my humans looking like they have Munchausen Syndrome)—pristine ears and a
non-angry looking toe. The vet felt so
sorry for my humans that she didn’t charge anything but I was somewhat
compensated for my lack of imposing a financial burden by the fact that
Elizabeth was forced to drop her work on a very busy project to take me to the
appointment. Although I prefer to cost my humans both time and money, sadly I
had to settle for time. For now.
The summer season is also underway in Central Park and this
means that I am the focus of much seasonal attention. There are photo opps and snack feeding opps
aplenty at this time of year and since people eat al fresco, so do I. Somehow
my summer walks all entail routes that take us along park benches and verdant
fields fragrant with picnic remains. But owing to the warmth and sunny nature
of the season I do feel impelled to take frequent breaks in the shade while my
humans stand around in the sun and watch me relax. If they too try to sit with
me and relax I get up and pull them somewhere else. Ditto if they try to take a
break from watching me and try to check their emails or something—up I get. It’s this kind of behavior that wins me the
many “Wretched Hound” accolades in which I bask.
But there is Evil afoot. Elizabeth has selfishly accepted an
invitation to go to Tuscany in the middle of the month, and is stopping off en
route to see friends in the UK. She is
flying across the pond on her favorite airline, Virgin Atlantic, which
coincidentally happens to be the only airline whose planes have a bar (although
what she finds to drink about when I am not around is a mystery). But I think I
could do better than Richard Branson:
Hound Atlantic
Hound fight attendant:
Welcome to Hound Atlantic, the Airline that Doesn’t Care About You (actually,
none of them do, we are just honest about it). Captain Hubert is in command of
our aircraft, and of you today and he has turned on the fasten seat belt sign
so we ask that you return to your seats—or what’s left of them—and fasten your
seat belt.
Passenger: Mine
just has the metal buckles! Where’s the rest of it?
Hound fight
attendant: I see that you haven’t flown with us before. If you had, you
would not have to ask. You won’t find those safety cards in your seat backs
that no one reads either. But don’t worry; one of our flight attendants will be
around to sit on your lap during takeoff and landing.
Passenger: But
they weigh 130lbs!
Hound fight
attendant: Exactly. You won’t be going anywhere. It’s one of our advanced
safety features.
Hound fight
attendant: I also want to remind our passengers that interfering with or
not obeying a member of the flight crew is a Federal offense and that this
applies whenever or wherever you encounter one of us. Now please turn off all
electronic devices and pass them to a flight attendant. Their use during flight
is prohibited. Except by us.
Passenger: Why do
we have to give them to a fight attendant?
Hound fight
attendant: Because due to cutbacks we no longer have sufficient staff to
steal them all ourselves.
Passenger: But
why can you use them and we can’t?
Hound fight attendant:
Because we use them for a different purpose that does not involve turning them
on.
Passenger: Well
when will I get mine back?
Hound fight
attendant: You really have never flown with us have you?
Passenger: Well what about a drink?
Hound fight
attendant: I was just coming to that. Ladies and gentleman after takeoff
our flight attendants will be coming through the cabin to offer you a beverage
of your choice.
Passenger: What
are the choices?
Hound fight
attendant: Coke with drool, sprite with drool, orange juice with drool,
coffee or tea with drool, fancy bottled water with drool and of course, our
specialty drink, Just Drool.
Passenger: Can I
have that on the rocks?
Hound fight
attendant: Of course. We also have a selection of alcoholic beverages that
include wine with drool, beer with drool a selection of cocktails with drool
and our special house drink, Shots ‘n Drool.
These are available for purchase with a credit card that we will be
taking from you to verify their validity.
Passenger:
Really? You verify the card?
Hound fight
attendant: No, we eat them. But no one would give us the cards if we said
that. Notice that we didn’t promise to give them back. At least in their
original form.
Passenger: What
about food?
Hound fight
attendant: I am just coming through the cabin to deliver a tray with our
award winning meals.
Passenger: But
this tray is empty!
Hound fight
attendant: You snooze, you lose.
Passenger: But I
am hungry.
Hound fight
attendant: Well I could try to get you a meal from first class.
Passenger: Is
that an empty tray also?
Hound fight attendant:
Absolutely not! First class passengers are served on elegant china! The meal is all the stuff that we don’t like
and spat out. I think the meal you have is better.
Passenger: And
who exactly did these meals win an award from?
Hound fight attendant:
The American Kennel Club.
Passenger: Well
what about entertainment.
Hound fight
attendant: I’m glad you asked. We have an award winning entertainment
system also.
Passenger: Let me
guess. We throw squeaky toys for you to fetch.
Hound fight
attendant: Don’t be ridiculous! Hounds don’t fetch. Why would we bring
something back that we went to all that trouble to retrieve? Anyway, each row
has its personal entertainment system. A flight attendant will stretch out on
all of you and thwack you until you scratch him.
Passenger: Is
there audio entertainment?
Hound fight
attendant: He snores.
Passenger: That
sounds like an entertainment system for the flight attendants.
Hound fight attendant:
Well yes. It’s not all about you, you know. And we didn’t say who our entertainment
system entertains. But scratching a
Hound will lower your blood pressure-- at least until you get the bill for the
flight.
Passenger: Do
people really fly this airline?
Hound fight
attendant: Absolutely! Haven’t you seen our advertising campaign--
“Hound Atlantic: Something Special In the Air.” We just don’t say what.
Well you get the idea. Of course the flight attendant on
Elizabeth’s flight back from Boston was also something special—after yelling at
the passengers about various things she started complaining about how none of
the glassware had been washed and that the glasses were too small anyway. Then
she served wine in the large plastic glasses meant for water. They were full.
No one asked for seconds. When Elizabeth finally rolled home she came over to
see me immediately because she missed me—but then she sobered up.
But we Hounds are something special on the ground too. It’s
why everyone loves us—except of course the humans whom we put on involuntary
diets and who have to repair moonscaped yards, replace chewed up fences and buy
lots of new underwear. Also new couches. I myself am special in so many ways
that it is not possible to enumerate them all.
For instance, I am trilingual—I know how to not listen to my humans in
English, Hungarian and French!
So in other news, when I entered Elizabeth’s apartment after
our walk yesterday, my toy pile was missing! (There is a very good reason that
I inventory it every day). But a
completely missing toy pile can only mean one thing—a visit from Pluto, my
French bulldog buddy. Sure enough, Elizabeth disappeared and came back with the
little fellow! It was delightful (except for the fact that I had to be walked
on the heinous gentle leader because Maria was walking me and owing to the fact
that she hadn’t slept the night before, she somehow felt that I might take
advantage of her if I were on my harness. Moi?). I really like Pluto and I am sure the
neighbors that I bay awake when he and I meet on early morning walks like him
too!
Well, I think I will leave it there for this week. I have to go help Elizabeth find something to
wear in a tony Tuscan resort. Something in black and tan perhaps…
Until next time,
Wimsey, something special (and painful) in your lap
As many of you know, I am being abandoned for nine days.
Elizabeth is going to Europe which means that my primary human, Maria, will
have to take full care of me. There is some compensation in that she is taking
a few days off next week to devote herself to the effort full time and I am
also to have a visit from one of my favorite humans, Ilonka who is married to
Paul who is the founder of my brewery, Baying Hound Ale Works. 
She will be bringing along a friend to add to
my entourage hoping to distract me from the fact that one of my humans had the
temerity to leave me. And better yet, we
will all be crammed into my tiny apartment which means that not only can’t you
run, you can’t hide either. Not from the drool, the hair, the stink and my tush
on your lap. I only hope that Ilonka is still friends with her friend after a
couple of days with me (and nights, during which I excel at running, farting
and snoring all at the same time).
Anyway, in spite of the crazy weather I did manage to take
my humans out for a 3-hour frolic in the park on Sunday. Although mainly this
consisted of me resting in shady bowers while my humans stood around and gave
their sunscreen a workout while watching me. But since the weather has been largely cool
and cloudy I have been out and about and my humans have been spared my annual
metamorphosis into Wimsey the Vampire Hound in which I run from shady spot to
shady spot to avoid the direct sunlight. Summer would be great if it were not
for the weather.
Good Things About
Summer
When all of this proved too taxing to supervise I took a nap
not on my kuranda bed. Maria keeps
hopefully repositioning it around the yard under the theory that if only she
found the right spot I would use it. This
is kind of like thinking that if only she told me to sit often enough I would
do it. But as a reward for all of our labors we rewarded ourselves with the
first Saturday wine and pizza night of the year. I ate quite a bit—cut up and
hand fed to me the way I like it naturally. Apparently when you drool on a
piece, it’s yours. And as happens every
year, plans are being made to try to barbecue—Maria bought all the gear several
years ago but has yet to get up the courage to use it. Barbecuing is right up
there with gardening, driving and pumping gas in my humans’ arsenal of skills. They can take comfort in the fact that I will
be on hand to deal with any unsuccessful experiments. 
Sorry for the short post this week but before I go I want to
observe that New York is full of odd things (like giant, baying bloodhounds)
and here is a statue of a giant, non-baying raven. Why? Because the building
behind me used to be a farmhouse owned by Edgar Alan Poe’s parents and he wrote
“The Raven” there. Things have changed a bit. Sadly, I am not allowed to pee on
this raven which is disappointing since I’ve never peed on a raven before and I
believe that expanding one’s horizons is important for personal growth. 
