December 6, 2014
(There are a lot of pictures this week towards the end of the post so don't despair of not seeing enough of me)!
Hello Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where the Christmas season has officially begun! The season brings with it a plethora of humans carrying packages that I wish to inspect and that my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth wish me not to inspect. Much has been made in these and other cybersites about the many admirable (or not, depending on whether you are a human or a Hound) characteristics of the bloodhound but I think it is worth taking a moment to explore another: we are major busybodies. Anywhere there is human activity there is an inquisitive Hound (and his even more inquisitive nose) wishing to determine the cause of the activity and evaluate its possibilities for active participation and benefit. In my case, this includes but is not limited to:
People carrying bags, purses, luggage, backpacks, carryalls or wearing clothing with pockets.
Construction work of any kind, but especially sites where there are construction workers to admire and pet me and to create those pop up urinals in the form of barriers, cones and mesh fences that I so enjoy
People sitting in cars who always look like they could use a little canine company in their vehicles
Crowds doing anything
Courting couples doing everything
People taking pedicabs or horse carriage rides (or trying to)
Tourists taking pictures that cry out for a photobombing Hound
Tourists eating meals on benches that cry out for a food sharing Hound
Toursits visitng museums whose clothing exudes fasinating “out of towner” scents that must be thoroughly (and I mean thoroughly) investigated.
People having (or trying to have) picnics.
People playing (or trying to play) sports
People eating at outdoor cafes
People trying to have a conversation
People coming off of tour buses
People running back into tour buses
And of course my humans trying to cook, work, talk on the phone, read, watch TV, use the computer, use the bathroom or have a life. (This is especially true when they are together trying to collaborate on something other than me)
My humans have always believed that my motto is “If you have it, I want it” (they even had it translated into Latin so it would sound more official) but I feel this should be augmented by the more plebian “Whatcha doin’” and ‘Whatcha got there.”
Anyway, this Monday was a bath day and I apparently outdid myself in porcupining Elizabeth’s bathroom—furious texts were flying to Maria about how every available surface was now covered in Hound hair. I then added to the fun by consuming my freshly boiled chicken and four cups of kibble with so much enthusiasm that I threw them all up on the carpet. But at least I was clean. For 48 hours.
Now last week’s post discussed what it was like to spend a day with me when I was in a “mood.” But one of the (many) great things about being a Hound is that I have several different “moods” and Thursday this manifested itself by being in a mood to spend the day in Central Park. The weather was ideal—it was in the low forties and cloudy when the annoying sun eventually went away and resulted in a day of unsurpassed and fabulous gloom. Fortunately, Elizabeth’s “to do” list for the day included a large number of things that she preferred not to do, especially when compared with the alternative of perambulating about the park with me. This week, therefore I have decided to do a photo post about our day.
But before I begin, let me say that the denizens of New York City are very excited about Nathan the bloodhound’s win in Philadelphia. This prompted Maria to do some genealogical research and to discover that my grandfather, Ramsey Creek’s No Time to Lose is also Nathan’s great grandfather! Now when people come up to us and start sentences with “Did you see…” my humans chime in and proudly announce that Nathan and I related. Hopefully this makes up for all the drool I deposited on their nice clothing. In a city known for small dogs wearing designer duds, it turns out that lots of folks are excited that a “real dog” won a televised dog show. In fact one of the most frequent comments I hear on the street—after those about my size, my cuteness and those of the “who’s walking who” variety-- relate to me being “a real dog.” My humans are never quite sure what this means but I know that they often wish that I were a lot less real.
OK on to the pictures. The first couple are actually from Sunday and show me with the Frenchie puppy Lola whom I adore. She is tiny, even for a Frenchie and I make frequent attempts to inhale her.
Next, we ran into my friend Phineas the Ibizan Hound and his humans. We met him and his male human when he was just a puppy several years ago and we used to run in to him quite a lot, but now his evening walks and dog run activities are further north. I am sure the guy would be mortified to know that in spite of all the time we’ve spent together the only name by which my humans know him is “Phineas’ human.” As is the case when Hounds congregate, getting one to pose is an achievement and getting two to pose at the same time is a miracle. It was a lovely visit and I even behaved politely by actually consuming the proffered treat and not spitting it out in disdain.
"Hello Phineas! What’s this over here? It’s more interesting than you."
"A snack? Now you have my attention!"
Here I am at the Boat House Café. Having finished annoying the people trying to eat along the railing. I am now refusing to move until I get a tuna sandwich—it’s been three weeks since I had one!
Next, “Not gonna look at the camera.”
“Still not gonna look at the camera.”
“How about a nostril shot?”
“I’m not really looking at the camera. There’s a dog behind you.”
I'm still not looking at the camera. I'm watching Maria act like an idiot trying to get my attention. I think this shot makes me look exceptionally intelligent. Especially when compared to Maria.
Now for Thursday. The Metropolitan Museum of Art has finally unveiled its newly designed plaza so I decided to take Elizabeth over there to check it out.
This is a new giant, fancy drinking bowl that I will investigate more this summer. I look rather irate because I was being forced to stop my exploration for this picture.
“One dog. Hold the mustard!” What would a museum visit be without checking out the food trucks? Also I was able to demonstrate my public spiritedness by cleaning up the area around the trucks.
OK, a tongue shot. Cuter than a nostril shot and besides there might be food truck crumbs left on my snout.
Still not looking at the camera but this is as good as you are going to get.
Time for a water break. Whenever I want a drink I go over to a fountain. When the parks department turns off the fountains for the winter my humans have to carry water canisters for me. Hydrating a Hound is essential to his comfort and inimical to theirs.
So Central Park is covered in all these fragrant dried leaves and I spent quite a bit of time with my nose glued to the ground. The fact that this field happens to be adjacent to a snack shop was a total coincidence.
So don’t all dogs sit with their posteriors parked on this handy top plank?
If you want me to get off of this bench anytime soon fork over a piece of turkey.
Still here. I’m serious.
Moving away will not cause me to jump off and follow you. This is a serious turkey face.
This is the way home. I do not wish to go home. You can tell that by the fact that I am not moving.
This is still the way home. I am seriously displeased.
If we cross the street we will not be going home.
Really? You’re not going to cross the street with me?
Notice the lady behind me—she has been watching our slow and laborious turkey-induced progress. Or lack thereof. She is amused and is just about to take a picture of me being obstinate. Which is to say, she is about to take a picture of me.
Anyway, this lovely walk consumed the afternoon but it really was good fun. For me. And Elizabeth got the best possible excuse for not doing the things she was supposed to do.
I think I will leave it there for now. For those of you who don’t live amongst Christmas tree vendors here is a picture featuring the tempting gauntlet that I am forced to run on all my walks? Those fragrant trees just call out for my attentions…
Oh and if I get a bit silent social media wise in December it’s because Elizabeth, who is my amanuensis and scribe (as well as being my cook, chauffeur and maid of all work) just signed up a project with yet another insanely short time frame. So while everyone else is out enjoying themselves for Christmas, she will be glued to her computer writing things that are not about me—a situation which I find abhorrent. Almost as abhorrent as the seasonal headgear and jingly ruff which are threatening to make their annual appearance from the back of her closet.
Until next time,
Wimsey, a Picture Perfect Hound