Wimsey's Blog:Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #148

Entry #148
December 11, 2009

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the newly frigid precincts of New York’s Upper West Side where we are finally getting some fine winter weather. My human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are extensively suiting up for winter Hounding activities and this year I get to join them in my new Ruff Wear fleece coat. And as it turns out it was rather nice that I was wearing it today.

Now the afternoon started out OK—Elizabeth came over at noon to pick me up for my midday park perambulation (perambulating being a highly desirable Hound activity, right up there with goosing and drool flinging) but then, disaster struck: her cell phone rang! Well after that call she made another and then, I thought, “finally, time for my walk”. But no! It was in fact time for ear cleaning, eye washing and tooth brushing (although I have to admit, even though it is not in my nature to be cooperative about anything, I am quite partial to having my teeth brushed with peanut butter tooth paste). Well after much running around and throwing myself on the ground and generally acting like the drama king my humans accuse me of being, it actually was time for my walk: collar with tags-check, prong collar-check, nylon slip safety collar in case the prong opens-check, gentle leader to impede my hurtling down the stairs faster than a speeding bullet—check, Ruff Wear fleece coat-NOOOO! Definitely not check!

Now my humans disagree on the need for this particular piece of apparel—Maria being of the sensible persuasion that I am a rugged fellow, perfectly adapted for all weathers and Elizabeth believing that any dog with a sissy name like Wimsey needs a coat at the slightest drop of the mercury. Also the coat is pay back for not letting her read the newspapers, not letting her talk on the phone, not letting her eat lunch without my big nose in the food, not letting her go to the bathroom unattended, not letting her work on the computer, not letting her come in from the park in under two hours, not letting her have a life, and so forth. And also the fact that yesterday I lay on top of her feet snoring in a loud and distracting manner while she was trying to concentrate on a conference call.

Anyway, when Elizabeth finally got me into this coat thing I flew down the stairs hoping to out run it, but to be honest I did think I looked rather eye catching and the coat did keep out the fierce wind. Well just as we entered Riverside Park for the Friday down- by- the- river- tow, we were stopped by these people from pawnation.com who were no doubt taken by the sight of me in my new coat, as yet un drooled on, unmuddied and unstinky, asked to interview me for a segment that will be up sometime in the New Year. The best thing about the interview was when they asked Elizabeth what the smartest thing that I do is and she drew a complete blank--smart and bloodhound not being words generally used in the same sentence. And I will admit, I had my mind more on finding the ideal piece of real estate upon which to poop (having to make room for my après tow lunch) than on cooperating with the camera. So I suspect, just like the Cynthia Rowley ad I was supposed to be in, I will end up on the cutting room floor. But considering that my afternoon started with cell phone calls and ear cleaning this was a decided improvement. It’s just like that other mentally challenged fellow, Forrest Gump said, life is like a box of chocolates, you never know which one you’ll steal.

Well we’ve had a very pleasant week here and on Sunday we met this little puppy. You’ll never guess what she’s called. Alpha! Isn’t that a super name? (Can’t wait until she goes to obedience class and is introduced to the instructor. Just hope her human’s name isn’t Omega). I wish I were called that. It would be such a descriptive name, like being called largesmellytheivinghound. Personally I hope she grows into her name.

And of course Christmas in the city is such a festive time of the year and it would be perfect were it not for all these tempting rows of trees. That and the fact that there has been some discussion of a pair of antlers for me. And just when I was starting to recover from the Disney themed hats. And this week, too, I had my very own Christmas Miracle—I went to the vet’s (my home away from home) and no one stuck anything up my bottom! And then my humans had their own Christmas Miracle-- the bill was only $45! They were in shock. I guess sticking things up my rear costs extra.

And the Christmas Miracle at the vet’s got me thinking a lot more about my spiritual life. As many of you know I am a disciple of Houndism, one of the world’s great philosophical creeds and one that is often badly misunderstood by humans. So I thought I’d provide a little clarification:

Major Tenets of Houndism

Thou shalt steal

Thou shalt covet all things belonging to humans, especially those things that cost a lot of money or would be inconvenient for them to lose

Thou shalt not kill the cat, chasing it is more fun

Thou shalt shed

Thou shalt dig large holes

Thou shalt not heel

Thou shalt nap on the furniture upon which others want to sit

Thou shalt drool

Thou shalt poke people in the fanny with thine large and cold nose

Thou shalt runneth up gargantuan vet bills

Thou shalt bay

Thou shalt not behave

Thou shalt not comprehendeth the words spoketh by humans, particularly the words “no” and “give that back.”

Thou shall emit large clouds of gas when people are trying to eat

Thou shalt not work

Thou shalt not allow others to work

Thou shalt get filthy right after thine bath

Thou shalt not permit thine nails to be cut

Thou shalt love thyself

Thou shalt not love others, as it is their job to love you

Thou shalt always look cute regardless of the amount of havoc thou hast wrought


These are of course just some of the basics. Being on a Houndist path involves a daily inward search to add to and refine the elements of the creed. Like my getting annoyed when it started to rain this week and causing Maria to pull her hamstring (again) in my haste to return home. Achieving perfection as a Hound is a rigorous goal requiring constant deep reflection and many belly rubs.

Well on one of those rainy days this week, Elizabeth and I happened to be passing the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park and finding it for once devoid of climbing young’uns I moved in for a closer inspection. I really like the story and think I will write my own version.

Wimsey in Wonderland

Once upon a time a giant Hound is running away with a pocket watch he has just stolen when he gets distracted by the appearance of a tasty-looking White Rabbit. The Hound then digs a hole to trap the rabbit and they both fall down into it. Once down the hole the Hound finds a piece of cake with an invitation to eat it, which gives him a great sugar rush and makes him really frisky. So the Hound digs further and discovers a magical realm where he is invited to a Tea Party and all the food is cooked especially for him. Someone suggests he try some Mushrooms but he’s heard they can really mess up your head so opts for some roast chicken instead. And then he gets to run around a beautiful 800 acre garden for hours on end, peeing on all the carefully tended vegetation before taking a nap on a large, cushy bed.

When he wakes up he finds that a Duchess is giving him a belly rub and he is presented with a new toy in the shape of a Caterpillar. He and the Duchess go back out to the garden where the Hound gets to chase some Dormice and then meets the Cheshire Squirrel who teases him with his bushy tail and then disappears only to reappear sitting in a tree. The Hound vows to wipe the smile off the Cheshire Squirrel’s face one of these days. Then they meet the Queen of Hearts who is always cheesed off about something-- usually something to do with the Hound, like having a dislocated shoulder or having to wear layers of ugly bulky smelly clothes. The Queen of Hearts threatens the Hound with bodily harm for one or another of his many transgressions (only it’s not his head she threatens to take off) but as usual he is defended by the Duchess who proclaims that he is perfect in every way except when he shoves her off the bed, emits gas, tries to eat her food, flings drool in her face, French kisses her, gets her nice clothing muddy, depletes her bank balance, whacks her with his paw, sheds all over the carpet, makes her go out in inclement weather, gallops down the stairs or eats the mail.

Then both ladies commiserate about not having a handsome Knave of Hearts to date but they agree that Knaves of Hearts generally prefer Tarts rather than smelly, disheveled women accompanied by a disruptive, baying bloodhound. Next, lots of people from around the garden gather to admire the Hound and to take photos of him and then feed him their lunches. The Hound wonders when he will wake up from this dream but then realizes that he’s never been asleep. The End.


Isn’t that a charming story! Or maybe it’s a cautionary tale. Well I think that is about all for this week. Now that we have cold weather the only thing missing is snow and the death defying process of trying to walk me in it. And I must take time this week to make out my Christmas list. It should be pretty simple as I am the only one on it.

Until next time,

Wimsey, antlers not included

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #147

Entry #147
December 4, 2009

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where not only is it starting to feel a lot like Christmas but it is also starting to smell a lot like Hound. Last Sunday after our usual four hour stroll in Central Park my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth decided to give me a bath. Things got pretty exciting when, in my efforts to evade all the vigorous toweling going on, I slammed the bathroom door shut jamming it and locking us all in! Now being locked in the bathroom is never a pleasant thing, but being locked in the bathroom with a wet and irate giant Hound is quite another thing all together. Elizabeth’s first thought was to escape using physics by trying to cool down the door parts, causing them to contract and unstick Then she realized that perhaps a more effective if less elegant solution was to yank the door open using the cutout at the bottom of the door. Thus liberated, I went on to enjoy a delightful mixed poultry post bath dinner and the ladies to enjoy giant cocktails to celebrate my new found fresh smell and their escape from Hound captivity.

Of course that was on Sunday and today being Friday there is a distinct aroma of Hound beginning to make its presence known. But in spite of the fact that baths occur in the bathroom, I do very much like it in there. I especially like giving my humans the opportunity to multi-task by paying some much needed attention to me whilst availing themselves of the facilities. As it turns out my giant Hound head is the perfect height for some scratching in that position (And should the mood strike me, I am also in perfect position to engage in a little nose nibbling).

Well let’s see, in spite of the fact that we are still having mild weather (although I have hopes that next week will usher in some brisker weather more pleasing to my frisky nature) New York is looking increasingly festive. Majestic Christmas trees now fragrantly line the streets and as always I think they look like as if they could use a little watering. My humans think not. But I am a Hound and will persevere. And of course there are plenty of parties, like the state dinner recently held at the White House. But I have a slightly different scenario in mind for the next one:


White House State Dinner #2

Hound: Hello. I’m here for Bo’s state dinner.


Secret Service Officer: I think it’s the Obama’s who are giving the dinner. What’s your name?


Hound: The Honorable Champion Ewine Ramsey Creek’s Wimsey.


Secret Service Officer: Really? What are you champion of?


Hound: What’ve you got? I am a Champion Hound which means I’m pretty much the champion of anything I set my mind to, you know like baying, towing, shredding clothes, being annoying or getting people to let me into places that I’m not supposed to be.


Secret Service Officer: Yeah, I met somebody like that at the last state dinner. Well your name’s a mouthful to pronounce. Do people really call you all those names?


Hound: You can’t begin to imagine the names people call me. But generally I am just known as Wimsey.


Secret Service Officer: I’m sorry. That’s not a very macho name but if it makes you feel any better my name is Clarence.


Hound: Well of course, my name might not be macho, but I do have a pair of these as compensation.


Secret Service Officer: Wow! Those are spectacular. Even bigger than mine and back at the Secret Service academy where we officers receive our elite training mine came in second at our annual competition.


Hound: I didn’t know you guys held conformation events.


Secret Service Officer: Well protecting the president can get pretty boring and checking names on all these lists is so intellectually taxing that we have to come up with ways to make our lives more meaningful. And any guy would be hard pressed to think of anything more intrinsically fascinating than the masculine parts.


Hound: Well, it’s nice to meet someone who understands what’s really important in life. Now I am getting a bit peckish so unless you’re willing to part with those doughnuts I really must be getting in to dinner.


Secret Service Officer: Well Champion Wimsey, I don’t seem to have you on my list.


Hound: I was probably on the list that I ate. Is President Nicolas Sarkozy of France on your list?


Secret Service Officer: Yes.


Hound: Well that’s me. I’m incognito this evening.


Secret Service Officer: Well why didn’t you say so! Now that you mention it I can’t think of how I didn’t recognize you---that Gallic charm and sophistication, the aesthetic appreciation of male anatomy, the fine French fragrance you’re wearing.


Hound: Thanks. I’m also interested in couture, particularly Mrs. Obama’s new gown.


Secret Service Officer: Of course. And if you see a little beagle in there say hello to German Chancellor Merkel for me.


I certainly think I should be invited to the next State Dinner (assuming invitations are required) and I even have a dashing new piece of attire to wear. My Ruff Wear fleece winter coat arrived this week. Here you can see how happy I am about being woken up from a nice nap on Elizabeth’s futon to try it on. Talk about a person needing instant gratification! And now Maria is thinking about have a special little closet designed especially to hold my burgeoning wardrobe—perhaps something in a nice Mahogany that is embossed with a curlicue W with a little crown on top of it all in gold leaf. And of course no wire hangers-- they’re much too hard to chew. But a big AHROOO to the Ruff Wear people for making bloodhound shaped clothing (they also made my cooling coat). The fit is excellent. Plenty of room for my deep operatic chest and my expansive dewlap. A real feat of canine haberdashery.

And speaking of my operatic chest, I was doing a little concertizing on the street today, much to the admiration of opera loving New Yorkers (my instrument has a very rich, pure sound with excellent tonal variation) when someone suggested that I should be singing at the Met. Now I think this is an excellent idea not the least because there is an enormous and very parched looking Christmas tree in middle of the Lincoln Center Plaza. But are there enough operas with parts for me? Perhaps a few could be adapted:

Wimsey’s Guide to Hound Opera

Hound of Seville

Count Wimsey is love with Phoebe. But the bitch is staying with Dr. Beagle who also desires to mate with her. Count Wimsey disguises himself as a series of former best in show winners at Westminster to convince her that marrying outside her breed would result in funny looking puppies. His extensive serenading finally wins her heart (or perhaps she relents to preserve her hearing, Rossini was unclear on this point). In any event Dr. Beagle consoles himself by eating the wedding feast.

La Boheme de St. Hubert

A group of artistic but economically challenged Hounds are living a life of wine, women and baying in a picturesque 19th century Parisian garret. The hero Wimsio sticks his nose into the posterior of the beautiful lady Hound Me Me and falls desperately in love. But alas not only is she not in season, she is suffering from distemper. In spite of raising money by selling all his toys and kibble on eBay for the vet bills she travels over the rainbow bridge anyway (veterinary medicine not being all it was cracked up to be in the 19th century). Wimsio thinks of jumping into the Seine and joining her but then remembers he’s got webbed feet. Also his friend Gusso shows up with a stolen salmon.

Carmen

The Spanish gypsy Carmen, who also moonlights as a smuggler, lives a wanton life of seducing and abandoning men. She ensorcells a respectable sergeant named Don Jose and causes him to go AWOL. Then she loses all interest in men because she becomes obsessed with a handsome manipulative Hound, Don Wimsi, and spends all her time smuggling in pate from France for him and catering to his every whim. Even worse, she lets herself go, and starts wearing baggy clothes smuggled in from El El Beano. Don Jose loses his mind and a Hound claims another victim.

Faust

Deeply depressed about not having a life, Faust makes a deal with the devil and acquires a magnificent Hound. Suddenly he is very popular and finds that not only is he meeting all kinds of celebrities but the Hound is a major chick magnet and he even starts dating that hottie, Marguerite. Unfortunately Faust also finds that he never has any socks and the walls of his abode are perpetually coated with a viscous slime (where are the Ghostbusters when you need them) and he still actually doesn’t have a life-- just in a different way. Faust realizes too late that there is no such thing as a free lunch, except for the one his Hound stole.

Cosi Fan Tutte

Two young men think that their fiancées will always remain true to them. However, Don Huberto, an older and wiser guy bets them that this is not true. As part of the bet, Don Huberto introduces the young women to two adorable Hounds. Before they know it, the Hounds are sleeping in the young women’s beds and getting delicious home cooked meals, privileges never enjoyed by the young foolish gentlemen. In the end the men decide they still love their fiancées and marry them in spite of their lack of loyalty. Unfortunately for them the Hounds are also part of the deal.

Der Bluthhund

A drunken guy named Falke dresses up as a bat (Die Fledermaus) as part of a frat house dare and is abandoned in the middle of town square by his buddy Baron von Eisenstein. He is humiliated as the bat costume reveals certain anatomical deficiencies and the townspeople make fun of him every time they see him (being Batman was apparently not cool in 19th century Austria). As an act of revenge Falke invites the Baron to a fancy dress party and tells him that if he dresses up as a Bloodhound he will likely score with a hot hound-loving chick. The Baron takes the bait and his friend gets him drunk and abandons him in the center of town dressed in his bloodhound costume. It turns out that the townspeople are charmed by the Baron’s emulation of this noble breed and they all invite him in for coffee and bundt cake.

Don Giowimsi

A handsome Hound compulsively captivates a series of women and then abandons them for other women proffering even tastier treats. Asked to repent of this behavior, Don Giowimsi tells them not to be ridiculous. He’s a Hound.


I am sure that my operas would be such a great success that eventually someone would let me pee on that tree in Lincoln Center. Anyway, what week would be complete without yet another visit to the vet (ear cleaning, anal gland maintenance, funny lump biopsied ((turns out to be type of zit)), etc. etc. And this time, not only did I charm and amaze the staff with my animal magnetism but I stunned them with my lack of stink. But never fear, by the time my next visit rolls around I am sure the condition will have been remedied and nose plugs will no longer be optional.

Well I think that’s all for this week. I’ll have an update next week on my success with those rows of Christmas trees. And naturally the Christmas season brings with it an influx of tourists so I am sure this week there will be a surfeit of peace on earth and good will towards Hounds. Just hope they come bearing food.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Il Houndo Magnifico

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #146

Entry #146

November 28, 2009

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the turkey laden Upper West Side of Manhattan—I’m hoping you’ve had your fill of seasonal goodies (like the ten pounds (!) of yummy home baked goods that arrived from my human Maria’s mother to prevent me from wasting away over the holidays And in the spirit of the holiday I am actually allowing Maria to eat her mother’s goodies too).

I myself kicked off the holiday in fine New York style by viewing (along with Maria’s friend Elizabeth) the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloons being blown up. And naturally, as with all my activities, there was a coterie of New Yorkers watching me watching the balloons. And as I felt compelled to vocally encourage the chaps blowing up the balloons it was hard to say who attracted the most attention, me or the balloons. (I really have no idea why some people are terrorized by my baying and somehow think that it’s directed at them. It’s like get over yourself, you’re really not important enough for me to bay at. Clearly these are people who have no experience of Hounds). Many in the crowd seemed to want to figure out which balloon was fellow Hound, Snoopy which made me think that given the amount of attention I receive and the amount of time I generously devote to entertain New Yorkers and their guests, there really should be a Wimsey balloon.

Thanksgiving Day Parade 2010

Matt Lauer: Hello everyone. Welcome to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I’m here with colleague Al Roker to bring the magic of the parade to you live.

Al Roker: Yes, Matt and this year we have an exciting addition to the parade. There will be a Wimsey balloon!

Matt: How very appropriate as he lives only a few blocks away from the start of the parade. I suppose the city wants to honor him for spending the year arduously posing for photographs and being petted, fed and played with by tourists.

Al: It’s a tough job Matt. The City is grateful to Wimsey for taking it on. You know, people from out of town think New Yorkers are crazy but when the see this giant Hound roaming the streets of the metropolis they know that we are. He’s an integral part of the New York image, and confirms what the rest of the world thinks of us especially when they actually meet New Yorkers idiotic enough to live in a small space with a massive Hound.

Matt: Not only that, but to spend so much of their waking hours exercising the massive Hound in Central Park’s 800 acres. Rumor has it that he’s peed on every acre.

Al: It wouldn’t surprise me Matt, Wimsey has a prodigious capacity in that department. Also people see him in every corner of the park and think that New York is chock a block with bloodhounds, but really they’re all him. He can cover a lot of ground when he’s motivated to give his humans a good tow. And right now he’s particularly motivated as apparently none of his humans has pulled or broken anything or is seeing a physical therapist.

Matt: Yes, I hear he hates when that happens. He feels he’s let down his side.

Al: Anyway, Macy’s is introducing a Wimsey balloon and here it comes!

Matt: It’s enormous! Oops. It looks like he’s missing a few bits.

Al: Macy’s has a strict no nards policy, Matt and given the size of the balloon. making the bits proportional to Wimsey’s would have been overwhelming, although I must say he is much admired for those parts.

Matt: What’s that! It can’t be rain. It’s too sticky and the sun is shining!

Al: I heard they were trying to devise a way for the balloon to fling drool, so I guess they

succeeded. The Wimsey experience wouldn’t be complete without it. Here, have a wipe and an umbrella.

Matt: And I see they added a vocal capacity to the balloon also.

Al: What! I can’t hear you!

Matt: Look Al. The handlers seem to be having trouble getting the balloon to turn the corner. It’s almost as if the balloon wants to go in another direction. How can that be?

Al: It’s the Power of the Hound Matt. Even the polyurethane ones.

Anyway, every day is pretty much Thanksgiving around here-- my humans are always giving thanks that I am around to make their boring lives more “entertaining” and turkey is the number one bribing meat of choice and there are always innumerable reasons to bribe me. And speaking of my entertainment value, we all enjoy listening to comments about me that people make in passing—comments like “amazing,” “awesome,” and “what a cool dog,” etc. Well the other day a passerby commented that I was “a real New York City crime detection dog.” And of course he was right as at that moment I was in search of turkey cadavers. And in cases of such crimes against poultry it is essential to personally sample the evidence. Of course I also detect crimes humans commit such as unlawful possession of a bed or a sofa or felony hoarding of Dean’s pizza. Which reminds me that this week the TV show “Law and Order” was being filmed on Elizabeth’s block and my interest in one of the crew convinced his colleagues that he was “carrying.” Fortunately for him I am not a drug detection dog but am more of a sandwich detection one. And I excel at my job.

But I think in general I would make a very fine detective (except that I am always detecting things that no one wants detected, like juicy rodents or people who haven’t changed their underwear) and then there could even be a board game devoted to my detectival abilities.

Hound Clue

Player #1: I think Colonel Wimsey Mustard stole the Thanksgiving turkey in the kitchen using his hind legs to gain access to the counter.

Player #2: No. You are wrong. Miss Wimsey Scarlett shredded the priceless autographed Shakespeare First Folio in the library with her unclipped nails.

Player #3: I disagree. The culprit was Mrs. Wimsey White and she destroyed the 18th century Sèvres dinner service that survived the French Revolution in the dining room with her giant scimitar tail.

Player #4: You are all wrong. Mr. Wimsey Green blew out the windows in the conservatory with his potent sonic baying.

Player #5: No, I accuse Mrs. Wimsey Peacock of chewing the legs off the antique Chippendale side table with her teeth.

Player #6: Sorry to disappoint you all, but after all the destruction, Professor Wimsey, using his powerful brain, deduced that humans who live with Hounds ought not to be in possession of knives, candlesticks, revolvers, lead pipes, ropes or wrenches or any other potentially lethal instruments as they are inimical to the long term h

ealth of the Hound. So he stole them, dug up the floorboards and buried them under the shredded Aubusson carpet.

And speaking of brains, it turns out that because I tweeted about napping on a University of Chicago magazine (usually I like to take an afternoon newspaper nap, but none were available that day to make a nest out of so I was forced to squeeze myself onto the University of Chicago magazine), I am actually now being followed on Twitter by the University of Chicago! Clearly, unlike my humans, these brainy folks can appreciate a true genius when they see one, even if my head does come to a point. I probably should eat a few Great Books in the University’s honor—I hear Herodotus is particularly tasty- and also follow the Chicago School’s economic philosophy by taking steps to reduce my humans’ money supply.

And on the subject of the money supply, my humans apparently found one Black Friday offer too good to resist—a sale-priced Ruff Wear fleece winter coat that they ordered for me. Who knew they made winter coats that size that weren’t intended for smallish ponies. Apparently all this is because Maria has been seeing fat squirrels (is that like seeing pink elephants?) and is convinced that this means we’re going to have a cold winter. And as my humans have nothing left to buy in the outerwear department (except perhaps crampons for staying upright whilst walking a Hound in snowy weather) they turned their attention to me. And it seems this year all the neighborhood dogs are sporting coats at the slightest nip in the air or the lightest drizzle. And they wouldn’t want me to stand out or anything; I mean people would notice a giant smelly, baying drool flinging Hound if he were coatless, wouldn’t they? Anyway, so now the question is, does an oversized Hound in a green fleece coat trump a fat squirrel in the weather prediction department? My humans are convinced that their eagerness to display me in my winter finery virtually guarantees a warm winter.

But we have had very mild weather this week which means I’ve been out and about quite a bit to take advantage of it before the fat squirrels have their way. And after much baying and furious towing Elizabeth finally relented (furious baying and towing generally does lead to relenting in my experience) and let me visit the snack bar at the Conservatory Water (this is a large man made pond in Central Park where in Spring and Summer children sail model boats and I need to be restrained from diving in and helpfully retrieving them) where I stood on my hind legs and was fed treats by the counter man. The feeding fellow was quite amazed at how gentle I was whilst I was relieving him of these snacks and my soft mouth encouraged him to keep the feeding going pretty continuously. Another example of my manipulative brilliance, which I am sure is being studied by University of Chicago scholars even as we speak.

Anyway, my annual Thanksgiving promenade was an especial succes

s this year as we ran into my gal pal, Oreo the delicious Dane. I really have a thing for these tall lanky Scandinavian types. Of course I have a thing for females in general. Especially the ones who don’t bite me when I stick my cold nose into their nether regions and inhale deeply.

Well all this following by major academic institutions has gone to my head and I might have to eschew making fun of popular cultural institutions and board games and such and go back to cogitating on the role of the Hound in the more rigorous intellectual disciplines such as physics, history, art, literature and making fun of the French. But first it’s time to hit the books!

Until next time,

Wimsey, Thanksgiving Day balloon manqué