Friday, April 25, 2008

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Entry # 64
April 25, 2008

Hello Everyone. It’s me Wimsey reporting to you from Manhattan’s beauteous Upper West Side where it is definitely Springtime for Wimsey. I have been invading Central Park qu
ite a bit and as it is ablaze with odiferous flowering trees it is harder than ever for my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth to drag me out of my parkland paradise. I tow them in, they tow me out.

(here is a new Central Park friend, Hero, who is being fostered by Stray From the Heart)

But the fine spring air also brings with it an abundance of allergens (for humans, not for Hounds—we revel in the allergens as they herald the arrival of a fine new crop of peeable plants) and so as Maria was under the weather Elizabeth foolishly offered to look after me for a few nights (although apparently she was concerned that the disruption in my schedule would be unsettling to me until Maria sagely reminded her “This is Wimsey we’re talking about”). But what a few fantastic nights they were—with the exception of not being allowed to bring my new 45 inch orange squeaky Monkey -- it was a total blast. I reconnected with (stole) the squeaky whale that I eschewed during the Harrisburg dog shows (see post # 62) and made quite a racket with it before consuming the delicious cooked dinner that Elizabeth likes to prepare for me (“If Wimsey is full maybe he’ll refrain from sticking his nose into my food.” At least that’s the theory). And just as Elizabeth was about to toss her leftovers into the garbage she realized that she had a much greener (or ultimately browner) option at hand—namely, Me. I will eat anything
she eats, no matter how disgusting, just on general principle. The Wimsey motto is not “If you have it I want it” for nothing. My life is its pure embodiment and I live my creed every day--even to the point of trying to steal the dental floss out of Elizabeth’s mouth (Wimsey’s oral hygiene tip: flossing while sitting with the front end of a giant Hound in your lap is inimical to good dental hygiene).

But the best part of staying with Elizabeth is scaring the beejeesus out of her in the middle of the night with lots of sudden, startling, loud and unexpected noises including sharply flapping ears followed by a face full of wet Hound, which I achieve after a lengthy drink of water. (I like to check up on her to make sure she fully appreciates the gusto with which I enjoy the water thoughtfully provided in my elegant blue enamel Chopard water dish. And after all, the night is a perilous time and my frequent bed checks ensure that she will be sufficiently alive and well to cook me breakfast).

Ultimately my activities create a state of Wimsey induced sleep deprivation psychosis (perhaps I could license my techniques to the CIA). In this weakened state Elizabeth is unable to undertake any pesky non-Hound related work on her computer or have coherent phone conversations that don’t involve me. (“must walk hound, must feed hound, must scratch hound must sleep, must sleep”).

And speaking of pesky computer work, Elizabeth had at one time written an investor’s guide to genomics (genomics being another one of her fascinating interests, like the history of the Tudors—and not the sexy ones on Showtime either-- that have the male population of New York beating down her door) and she has been thinking about writing a new piece on this subject. But because human genes are so boring, it puts me in mind to write:

Wimsey’s Guide to Genomics

Now Hound genes are built from four principle chemical components: Houndadenine, Houndcytosine, Houndguanine and Houndthymine. Utilizing these four building blocks a whole assortment of delightful Hounds can be built, although many crucial genes remain substantially unchanged as they have proved essential over many generations of Hound evolution:

Crucial Hound Genes Conserved Through Evolution

Stink: This is a fundamental Hound gene which humans are always attempting to down regulate through the application of baths and products such as the Griminator and Crown Royale (the finishing spray, not the whisky, although a shot or two of that helps make bathing an unruly Hound a far more relaxing experience).

Drool: Another fundamental gene which is upregulated in the presence of interesting smells such those appertaining to food items, prey items, feminine sanitary items and all forms of casual human hygiene.

Imnotgonnadoit: This is a suite of highly versatile behavioral genes without which the Hound cannot function. Without this suite the Hound would be merely another of the common canine archetypes that one sees misguidedly doing helpful and useful things to assist humanity.

Pointyflathead: This gene ensures that the Hound cranium is of the appropriate size and shape to resist cluttering with too many confusing neurons.

NoseNoseNose: This gene is amplified to ensure the primacy of the scent organ, which is the Hound’s second favorite organ.

Stealit: The gene confers a heightened awareness of useful items that may legitimately be removed from their existing venues due to the momentary inattention of their previous owners.

Bedhog: Not to be confused with the homeobox hedgehog genes active in human development, this gene ensures that the Hound achieves a full and comfortable 18 hours of proper rest.

Cute: This is a gene essential to the survival of the Hound. Without it The Hound faces extinction.

But it is not only modern methods that can reveal our past present and futures. In ancient times (over a decade ago) people did not have gene analysis to tell them all about themselves (or the privilege of paying a mere thousand dollars for Navigenics to deliver the exciting news that they have a high probability of contracting an interesting but sadly incurable disease) so they had to rely on more traditional methods--- such as astrology. Now I have been quite impressed with the accuracy of the characteristics ascribed to my astrological sun sign, Pisces (although I am not too keen on having been born under the sign of a fish; I wonder why there is no astrological sign of the Hound—probably too many people would want to be born under it and those not lucky
enough to do so would be subject to massive discrimination). But alas I have nonetheless been assigned to the fish and according to the sages of yore (and the Internet) I am:

Shy (I never fling drool until after the first pet).

Romantic: (I serenaded my gorgeous Phoebe bloodhound whilst we were in the show ring
together and spent the rest of the time with my nose romantically tucked up her bum).

Trustworthy: (I can always be counted on to disrupt any important human activity; consistency is my middle name).

Aloof: (I like to stand about looking majestic and dignified whilst humans coo, squeal and fawn over me).

Dreamy: (I spend 18 hour a day dreaming about beautiful girl bloodhounds, inattentive squirrels and long, lingering pees in Central Park).

Creative: (I constantly find new and imaginative places to poop where it can’t be scooped).
Understanding: (I comfort my humans after they have had a bad day by allowing them to engage in the soothing scratching of my undersides).

Unrealistic: (I constantly expect my humans to give up 100% of their lives for me instead of the 99% they currently give).

Impractical: (There must be a way for a 125lb Hound to fit onto the lap of a 125lb human).

Musical: (I am famous for my singing, especially early in the morning and in the show ring).

Also there are many famous Pisces:

Sidney Poitier (We both have a handsome, commanding presence)
Anais Nin (I too am a fine writer)

George Harrison (He sings; I bay. People love us both)
Steve Jobs (He creates computers, I eat computers ((also i-Pods))

Johnny Cash (I too wear a lot of black)

Elizabeth Taylor (We are both renown for our beauty)

Bernadette Peters (We both are dog loving redheads)

Shaquille O’Neal (I too am tall and like to toss a ball around)

Chuck Norris (It’s a tossup which of us can inflict more physical pain)

Billy Crystal (We both make people laugh)

Bernardo Bertolucci (I like butter too)

So perhaps it is not too bad being a Pisces—although it might have been nice to have been born under the sign of a more eatable animal (is sirloin steak an astrological sign?)

Anyway, after a two week hiatus it is time for us again to resume our visits to the Wi
msey Institute of Houndish Art. This week in honor of all the domestic care that has been lavished upon me we travel to the Netherlands to look at a very famous painting by Dutch baroque painter Johannes Vermeer (The Milkmaid, 1658, Johannes Vermeer, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam). Not much is known about Vermeer—he spent his entire life in Delft and died at the young age of 43—to his wife he left 11 children and to posterity some of the finest masterpieces of 17th century Dutch art. Vermeer was fond of painting interior domestic scenes utilizing glowing, luminescent colors. And what a wonderful scene this is—the contrasting blues and yellows bathed in a soft northern light. But there is a table with food upon it and the milkmaid is pouring milk from a jug—who is this for? You can see how this key omission is instantly solved by the insertion of a beautiful and luminescent hound who gazes lovingly at the woman who is about to provide such bounty for his tender stomach. The Wimsey Maid.

Well, it is time for another walk in Central Park where I will exercise my Piscean sensitivity to appreciate Spring’s flora and fauna and to help them grow using Elizabeth’s leftovers.

Until next time,

Wimsey, a true lily (or tulip) of the field

1 comment:

Heath and Jessica said...

Wimsey, you are such a wonderful writer & have such wonderful insight! You should write a book called "Everything I learned in live, I learned from Wimsey". I would definately buy it! Keep blogging!