Friday, June 25, 2010

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #173

Entry #173
June 25, 2010

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the hot and humid streets and lawns of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I expect to see palm trees growing and jungles sprouting at any moment.(perhaps there will even be monkeys to chase instead of the more climactically temperate squirrels).

My cooling coat is getting quite the workout and my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are appreciating the challenge of trying to stay alive whilst attached to a wet, annoyed Hound trying to outrun his cooling coat down steep flights of stairs.

And speaking of my cooling coat, as you can imagine it engenders much notice and comment among the denizens of the metropolis—everything from people accusing my humans of Hound abuse for having me wear a coat in the heat to people thinking that I am a highly important service dog. Of course I am a highly important service dog, just one that demands service rather than rendering it.

But this week some guy hit the jackpot in the creative comments department vis a vis my coat when he opined that it was a bullet proof vest! Now this made me feel very macho and fueled my fantasies of working with the police, although I have to admit that my enemies are much more likely to use teeth than guns.

Anyway, this made me think that it was time for an episode of:

Wimsey, Undercover Hound

Officer Wendt: Well Wimsey are you ready to go undercover?

Wimsey: Well, usually it’s too hot under the covers for a Hound of my generous proportions, but I will do my best.

Officer Wendt: But first you have to put on your bullet proof vest.

Wimsey: Do I have to? I hate wearing clothes. And anyway, the vest doesn’t protect my most attractive bits.

Officer Wendt: Those will have to go under cover too. You are masquerading as a Mafia Princess’ dog called Gelato.

Wimsey: What! I have to be a fluffy Maltese! Whose idea was that!

Officer Wendt: I think your humans suggested it. In any case, large smelly Hounds are not noticeably popular among Mafia Princesses.

Wimsey: Well at least I’ll get to sit on laps with no one screaming at me. And I suppose white is a better color in the summer.

Officer Wendt: We want you to infiltrate the family and find out who is going to be whacked.

Wimsey: Don’t you mean who is going to be thwacked? The answer is my humans—it’s why they are always trying to cut the nails on my giant bear paws.

Officer Wendt: There will be no thwacking! We don’t want you sleeping with the fishes.

Wimsey: Not even smelly, rotting ones? Sounds heavenly

Officer Wendt: No. And there will be no stealing of the braciole either.

Wimsey: No stealing and no thwacking! I’m not sure I like the sound of this.

Officer Wendt: Too bad! Now we have a car ready to take you to New Jersey.

Wimsey: New Jersey! You didn’t say I’d have to go to New Jersey. No one wants to go to New Jersey. Not even the people who live in New Jersey want to go to New Jersey! That’s why they all come here.

Officer Wendt: We know. We’re always having to deport them back to where they came from every evening.

Wimsey: Well wearing a bullet proof vest was bad enough. Hiding my resplendent boy bits was bad enough. Pretending to be a fluffy Maltese was bad enough. But New Jersey is out of the question! And they talk with funny accents and wear loud clothes and too much jewelry and have people called Snooki.

Officer Wendt: Well perhaps you could go under cover here at the precinct and find dirty cops.

Wimsey: You mean the ones that take bribes?Officer Wendt: No the ones that don’t change their underwear.

Of course New Jersey does have its good points—they have a lot of roads that go to much better places. And speaking of better places, the Wimsey Spring Fling that got canceled has now been transformed into the Wimsey Summer Frolic. My summer calendar now includes a mid July trip to the northern reaches of Upstate New York (July being one of the only months when it doesn’t snow up there I’m told) to visit Maria’s mother (who only has a scant few weeks to shop and cook!) and then on to the Lakes of Michigan to see one of my breeders.

And as usual finding a car big enough for me and all my stuff that does not cost the GNP of a small nation and hotels that will accept me are proving challenging. One “pet friendly” place told my human that they only take dogs under 40lbs. I mean what is so magical about a dog under 40lbs? Clearly these are people who are poorly acquainted with The Terrier Group and their legendary powers of mayhem.

Anyway, my breeder kindly offered us the use of her new motor home when we stay in Michigan but the thought of being cooped up with me all night in a small space made Elizabeth blanch (the highlight of my overnight stays with her being my frequent post-drink of water bed checks of which she is a big fan).

But summer is in full swing here and every year I look forward to watching Wimbledon, which mostly consists of me sitting on Elizabeth and getting scratched and eating snacks. So many people wearing white is an exciting prospect to a muzzle smearing Hound such as myself. But for sartorial splendor that deserves a little (OK maybe a lot) of mussing, you can’t beat the Queen--her visit to Wimbledon was televised yesterday. I find myself particularly attracted by the Mad Hatter style hats she favors—I think they would look a lot better if I were permitted to sit on them first and squash them down a bit as she is rather petite. And her brightly colored clothes could do with a few earth tone additions.

But the Queen and I actually have quite a bit in common:

We both rule our domains (although I am more of an absolute monarch and she a mere constitutional one)

Everybody stares at us and wants to take our picture (although I am much cuter)

We both strive to look dignified at all times (although I am at my most magisterial when considering the weighty question of where to poop next—wonder what she’s thinking about?)

We seldom do things we don’t enjoy (the Queen watches a tennis match every 33 years and I aspire to a similar interval between baths ((note to self: should tell her that tennis is much more enjoyable when someone is rubbing your belly))

We both have extensive and brightly colored wardrobes (although I doubt she has to be wrestled into hers)

We both have been disappointed by those around us (bulimic and toe sucking daughters-in-law in her case and pizza hoarding humans in mine)

We both love horses (although I suspect for different reasons)

We both love dogs (I suspect for exactly the same reasons—we are wonderful creatures)

We are both much loved despite having done very little to deserve it

But no summer post would be complete without a roaching montage. The cynical amongst you might think that I was merely trying to rid myself of my cooling coat, but in actualality I was trying to enhance its delightfully stinky smell so that in addition to it smelling like a Hound it would also smell like the stuff a Hound rolls in.

And the other exciting news around here is that my human will be looking for a new crib for us for the Fall! We will be staying in the same neighborhood, however, owing to my predilection for park dwelling time and my need to supervise Elizabeth during the day and make sure she doesn’t work too hard (or at all). Maria is hoping for a bigger kitchen but she is under a sad illusion if she thinks she will be able to use it. (Elizabeth has a bigger kitchen but its functionality is generally limited owing to the presence of a fully stretched out Hound in the middle of it). Of course a bigger kitchen might mean more baked goods for me so perhaps not such a foolish idea.
Anyway, that’s it for this week. Am hoping for a cold wave.

Until next time,

Wimsey, The Air Conditioned One

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Wimsey's Blog; Dairy of a Manhattan Bloodhound #172

Entry #172
June 18, 2010

Hello everybody, it’s me Wimsey, once again coming to you direct from Manhattan’s Upper West Side where I continue to bedevil, or more accurately, behound my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth. Now last week Elizabeth snuck off to San Francisco where she had allegedly important business. But of course there really is no important business that does not involve me so I say she was just shirking her Hound coddling responsibilities. But she did drop by the South of Mission Bar called Bloodhound ( named in my honor I expect—see post #159-- for a quiet beer and a chat about me. Of course when the bartender heard that she knew me he refused to take payment for the beer—he obviously understood that adult beverages are a necessity for anyone who spends time in my presence-- and then another patron struck up a conversation about the wonders of the Bloodhound. He himself currently has small dogs which were lounging on the couch near the bar in a highly insouciant manner of which I would have immensely approved had I been allowed to accompany Elizabeth on her travels. Of course naming your bar “Bloodhound” and actually dealing with one in your establishment are two entirely different things. But the bar has lots of excellent beers (perhaps they will carry Baying Hound Ale! The Baying Hound Aleworks commences official operations July 1—I will keep you posted on progress and availability of the brew)—I mean what could be more appropriate than having an alcoholic beverage named after the animal that drives you to drink?

But there could be lots of other products named after Bloodhounds:

The Bloodhound Brand Dishwasher (with its special “pre”-pre-rinse cycle)

The Self Opening Bloodhound Brand Refrigerator (an excellent product for dieters since the only food ever left in it is lettuce)

The Bloodhound Brand Bed (an extra-large king-size excellent for those with bad backs since getting shoved off of it and sleeping on the floor has a salubrious effect on the spine)

The Bloodhound Brand Tail Height Coffee Table (guaranteed to be clutter free)

The Bloodhound Brand Dining Room Table (guaranteed to be food free)

The Bloodhound Brand Garden Gnome (yellow only)

The Bloodhound Computer (the mice are real!)

The Bloodhound Brand line of Clothing (never requires washing because drool, dirt and stink are indelible)

The Bloodhound Brand Bathtub (makes Hounds of all sizes disappear as if by magic!)

Anyway, the whole going out of town thing was really annoying and very inconvenient and if no man is a hero to his valet no human who has supposedly been conducting important business in California is important to her Hound. On the first afternoon after her return, Elizabeth, who may have been secretly hoping for an enthusiastic greeting, found me languidly sprawled out in bed, pointedly rolling over in an accusatory manner to call attention to her dereliction of duty.

But the ladies often discuss ways in which I could be permitted to fly in the passenger cabin of an aircraft. These discussions mostly involve me being some type of service dog. The question is what kind?

Maria: Well Wimsey can’t be a Seeing Eye dog because we both can see and he really can’t--not with all his skin folds covering his eyes most of the time.

Elizabeth: But maybe he could be a Smelling Nose dog trained to alert us to the presence of rotting rodents.

Maria: I don’t know if the airlines would buy it. How about if he were a service dog to make us feel less depressed?

Elizabeth: Like how less depressed he makes you feel when he consumes all your time and money? How about an anxiety therapy dog?

Maria: Like how relaxed he makes you feel when you know at any moment he’s about to take off with you down the stairs or fling drool in total strangers’ faces?

Elizabeth: I guess Wimsey is more of a depression and anxiety producing dog than a relieving one. How about Wimsey as an alerting dog?

Maria: But how useful is a dog who alerts you to the presence of police officers and other people he likes, or female dogs, or squirrels or tourists carrying plastic water bottles (especially those of the non-English speaking variety who don’t understand “Quick! Hide the water bottle!” until it is too late) or people eating tasty things for lunch?

Elizabeth: But Wimsey must be good for something!

Maria: Well he is good at making you feel small and unimportant. And he is a celebrity-attracting dog so I guess if you had a pathological need to meet celebrities he’d be a good service dog.

Elizabeth: I know! A food tasting dog!Maria: Yes, but that implies that there would be some food left when he is done tasting it.

Elizabeth: Good point. I don’t think Wimsey is service dog material. Anyway, since we’re really his service humans maybe he should buy the ticket and take us along instead.

Maria: Which reminds me, Warren Buffett called to offer Wimsey a NetJet account.

But anyway the fact that no matter how far away my humans stray they somehow end up spending unconscionable amounts of time either thinking about me or talking about me makes me think that they perhaps have A Problem. After all if people are prone to become addicted to food, sex, shopping, texting, etc. why not Hounds? What could be more worthy of an addiction after all.

Wimsey’s Hound Addicts Anonymous

New member: Ahroo! My name is Maria and I am addicted to Hounds.

Group: Hello Maria.

Group Leader: Welcome Maria. We discourage the use of Ahroo as a greeting. We don’t feel it is helpful to the process.

Maria: Sorry. But it is an essential part of the greeting ceremony.

Group Leader: We also try to discourage greeting ceremonies so we ask that you not wiggle, run back and forth, jump up and down, lick and of course bay.

Maria: That’s a lot of rules. Hounds don’t like rules.

Group Leader: We know. But you have to learn to connect with your inner human and stop using the Hound as a reference for behavior.

Maria: But behaving like a Hound is good for my career—being loud, assertive, persistent, determined, tenacious, stubborn, self-centered and opinioned have got me where I am today.

Group Leader: And where is that?

Maria: Unemployed.

Group Leader: I also imagine that dressing in drool spattered jeans and tee shirts are not helpful. Why don’t you wear a dress.

Maria: A dress? A dress? I have heard the term but I can’t quite seem to place it.

Group Leader: You know, those garments without legs and bulging pockets.

Maria: But where would I put all the Hound’s treats and poop bags. And it would be very cold when the Hound conducted his routine clean underwear check.

Group Leader: But you must have a life away from your Hound. That’s why you’re here.

Maria: But what does one do with a life away from a Hound? I mean that’s a lot of empty hours.

Group Leader: Well have you thought about forming new relationships?

Maria: Well there is a nice terrier in the neighborhood.

But really, my humans would be lost without me. When humans have too much time on their hands they just wreck the planet or create vapid TV shows, or watch vapid TV shows or play golf. So really Hounds are providing a service to humanity by sucking up all their misspent time and energy.

And speaking of energy we have had some lovely walks this week except that on Sunday the Puerto Rican Day parade caused some of my favorite paths to be blocked off! Fortunately these barricades (in front of which I would simply lie down and wait for them to go away) had people manning them who were on hand to scratch me and admire me and give me water bottles to play with. And there were many cries of “Lindo Perro!” among those headed off to the festivities.

And then one evening this week we met this fuzzy puppy who is only 3 months old and will grow into a giant Central Asian Shepherd who will be much bigger than this Giant Central Park Hound. All the pictures were blurry because he stays still even less than I do.

But now I really must be off—it’s time to sit on my service human’s lap and make her feel useful.

Until next time,

Wimsey, at your service (not)

Friday, June 11, 2010

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound

Hello everyone, Wimsey here to let you know that there will be no blog post this week owing to a scheduling conflict. Perhaps a week without me is not such a bad thing--my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth talk about escaping from my clutches all the time. I cannot imagine why. After all, I am large, loud, smelly, flatulent, drooly, muddy, grabby, nosey, demanding, and entirely self centered. In short, a perfect Hound. So visit my archives and review all the splendid pictures of me (are there any other kind) and relive some of my escapades. And as for those rumors that the missing blog post is owing to the fact that I finally pushed the ladies over the edge and they are in rehab
or in a psychiatric institution, they are completely unfounded. At least not both of them.
See you next week as usual, same Hound time, same Hound channel
Wimsey, to know me is to drink a lot

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #171

Entry #171
June 4, 2010

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you from the sweltering streets of the city that never sleeps and also my personal perch on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Well apparently we are having the second warmest spring on record and my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth are in a perpetual state of wilt at the August like conditions. And the dreaded cooling coat has made its premature appearance masking the inherent beauty of my magnificent black and tan-ness. As far as I know, ice blue is not an acceptable Hound color. And the warm weather has caused me to significantly boost my drool production but the good news is that now when I fling drool on people it doesn’t land on their clothes because they’re not wearing very many.

But in spite of the hot Memorial Day weekend we were all out and about as usual, although we did spend a lot more time lounging about in shady spots than is our usual wont. And I finally got to share a tuna sandwich from the Loeb Boat House snack shop in honor of the holiday—as I always tell my humans, calories look a lot better on my dewlap than on their behinds. Food sharing is one of the principal elements of the Wimsey Diet and Fitness Plan (another important element being the high caloric burn that is experienced when one is being towed at a high rate of speed behind a powerful and determined Hound). And when you throw in a fair bit Miscellaneous Chasing and Assorted Wrestling it is no wonder that the ladies stay fit. More Hound, Less Gym is my motto. Of course we won’t say anything about the Compulsory Beer Drinking that I demand because I like to play with the plastic cups.
And my ego got an enormous boost this week when someone on the street though I was a Cane Corso. No doubt this was due to the swaggering air of machismo that I have been carefully cultivating as well as their abject knowledge of dog breeds. But no one is likely to notice any amount of swaggering male machismo when I am forced to wear a sissy coat to stay cool. I rather think my humans should fan me with palm fronds in the manner of the ancient pharaohs which would befit a Hound of my rank and stature.

Anthony and Cleopatra and Wimsey

Anthony: Come let us make war on Octavius and Lepidus and capture the crown of Rome for ourselves.
Cleopatra: Wait, wasn’t Lepidus the pilot guy on “Lost?” You’re not going to force me to protect some mystical time traveling island and never tell me why are you?
Anthony: No. I’m going to crown you Empress of Rome and shower you with gold, jewels and slaves.
Cleopatra: And slabs of liver.
Anthony: Slabs of liver?
Cleopatra: Yes. My Hound is very fond of liver.
Anthony: Don’t tell me he is coming with us too!
Cleopatra: Of course. He goes everywhere I go.
Anthony: I know. I hate it, by the way when you refuse me your favors because it will wake him up.
Cleopatra: Well you should learn to be a bit quieter. Anyway, he needs his beauty sleep. He looks horribly smooth when he is tired you know.
Anthony: Well what say you to the usurpation thing?
Cleopatra: Well I must consult the Hound. Men are always promising me things because of the fact that I am beautiful and powerful. Fortunately the Hound doesn’t care about that at all. He only cares about what’s best for him.
Anthony: And how is that helpful?
Cleopatra: Because what’s best for him is best for me. Have you ever tried living with a giant annoyed Hound? Trust me; it’s a lot easier just to make sure he gets what he wants.
Anthony: But don’t you think that the phalanx of servants fanning him with palm fronds is a bit excessive. After all, we each have just one servant apiece fanning us.
Cleopatra: Yes, but if he overheats he jumps in my bath of asses milk and then it smells funny.
Anthony: But does he have to sleep in the bed with us?
Cleopatra: Actually I think he views it as letting us sleep in the bed with him. In any case, no one has yet figured out a way to keep him from going where he wants to go. And then if he is displeased he bays quite a bit and you wouldn’t get any sleep anyway.
Anthony: It’s a measure of how besotted I am with you that I tolerate your Hound. Committing treason against the Roman Empire is minor by comparison.
Cleopatra: Yes, my Hound is always telling me that men think with what is beneath their togas. It’s his belief that the nose and the stomach are more reliable organs upon which to base one’s activities.
Anthony: Well what does the Hound think about the whole going to war idea? Wouldn’t he like to become the First Hound of Rome. I hear he’s fond of pizza.
Cleopatra: Well the pizza argument is very persuasive but he thinks you’re an idiot.
Anthony: But he thinks all humans are idiots!
Cleopatra: Very true. But he’s always right.

Well I could have saved Cleopatra a lot of trouble. And speaking of trouble, this week a colleague of Maria’s sent her the following email because she thinks I am so cute:
Calling All Dog Owners in New York City!! (First problem: I own Maria, not the other way around)

Are you interested in certifying your dog as part of a reality television series? (Being on a reality TV show would be bad enough but being on it with me would bring a whole new meaning to the word humiliation)

Is your dog already certified and helping people? (How about if you are certified in not helping people. It’s what I do best).

If your answer is YES to any of these questions, we want to speak with you!

What are we looking for?

- Are you and your Dog a "Super Star Team"? (Well I am a superstar, my humans not so much)

- Do you and your Dog share an extra special bond? (Yes! They sacrifice all their time and money for me and I give them nothing! I think that’s special)

- Do you live fun, vibrant and exciting lives in NYC? (I live a fun, vibrant and exciting life in NYC. My humans just watch)

- Do you love hanging out in and around NYC with your Dog and other animal lovers? (My humans do very little except hang out with me)

- Are you and your Dog the most popular couple in Central Park? (No, I am the most popular dog in Central Park. No one cares about Maria or Elizabeth. They never even notice that they are actually two different people)

- Love catching up on the latest gossip at your local dog run? (I am not permitted in dog runs owing to the magnificent pair of cohones with which I am in endowed. I am sure the viewers will love seeing them)

- Do you travel with your Dog? (Not until the ladies take lessons on how to pump their own gas)

- Are you and your Dog camera friendly? (Yes, if you like pictures of my tush and the back of my head)

- Does your Dog deserve nothing but the best? (An excellent question: ABSOLUTELY!)

- Ever wish "Friends" was centered around a Dog Run and not a Coffee Shop? (No. Then no one would be able to hear the dialogue).

We are currently casting a new reality series that follows a select group of THERAPY DOG TEAMS (How about dogs who cause their humans to need therapy?) who successfully balance their BUSY & EXCITING NYC lives (buying clothes from LLBean and being towed by the me are the high points of my humans’ busy and exciting lives) with a DOG-LOVING lifestyle. This show will explore and uncover the ALLURING and HEART-WARMING ADVENTURES of being a THERAPY DOG TEAM living and working in the BIG APPLE. (Does parking my 130lb posterior on people and flinging drool in their faces count as being heart warming and alluring? How about eating their possessions?)

To Be Considered: Please send an email to (I prefer to be considered by BadDogCasting@gm

I don’t know which was more absurd this week, the fact that someone though I was a Cane Corso or that someone thought I would make a good star of a reality TV show featuring helpful and obedient dogs. Can you just imagine being ill and having a large, smelly dog take up your hospital room, fling drool on you and put his nose everywhere it doesn’t belong? Plus much of the dialog would consist of :

Wimsey, stop that
That doesn’t belong to you
Give that back
We’re not going that way
Get your nose out of there
Go away
Get off of me

and many others in the pantheon of Wimsey favorites.

Anyway, I intend to spend much of the evening sprawled in front of the air conditioner or transferring my body heat to Maria’s lap. It’s very therapeutic. Until next time,

Wimsey, the un-therapy dog