Entry #305
May 18, 2013
Hello Everyone, Wimsey here, celebrating the Merry Month of
May in the sylvan precincts of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where, although the
temps have still been a bit chilly, the sun has been shining and it has begun
to warm up. So much so that my human
Maria and her friend Elizabeth have had to put the AC on a couple of times in
their respective apartments to keep the indoor temp at a comfortably ambient
level for yours truly.
As a rather
generously proportioned canine my humans live in fear that I will overheat at
the slightest rise in the thermometer and anyone who takes issue with this will
be treated to Elizabeth’s long and boring treatise on the surface to volume
ratios that cause we large mammals to retain heat and keep ourselves
toasty. Generally she trots out this
lecture for the benefit of vocal and combative Manhattanites who are misguided
as to the purpose of my summer cooling coat and yell rude things. By the time she’s done setting them straight
their eyes are glazed over but at least they are no longer angry about a dog
wearing a coat in July. She’s
considering carrying thermal retention charts on her iPad to illustrate her
subject more thoroughly but I think she should carry pictures of mastiffs, bullmastiffs,
Great Danes, St. Bernards, shar-peis and all the other breeds for whom I have
been mistaken instead.
And then when we were on our way out of the park (or more
accurately, when my humans were on their way out of the park, I was on my way
somewhere else entirely), this nice woman with a very fine looking basset Hound
came running down the hill to ask if I was Wimsey.
She had apparently started reading my blog
years ago when investigating whether her move to New York from Georgia would
suit her Basset Hound and has been keeping an eye out for me ever since. Elizabeth tried to get a picture of her Hound
and me but getting a picture of two Hounds together was more of a challenge
than she had the patience for after an entire afternoon spent photographing my
posterior and my profile. It is always
wonderful to meet my fans—especially when they have the effect of delaying my
departure from the park.
But although Sunday was fun, Monday was even more
entertaining. At least for me. It had
apparently been far too long since my last visit to the Blue Pearl Vet Clinic
(formerly NY Vet Specialists—the folks who operated on me a few years ago and
to whom I am taken to see specialist vets) so on Monday I went to see the
neurologist. This time it was to ascertain whether a bone spur in my back is
impinging on a nerve and making me stiff. So in the spirit of a diary within a
diary, I present:
12:30 pm: Elizabeth arrives at my apartment. I am
napping on Maria’s bed and require that my reanimation involve the substantial
rubbing of my underside.
12:40pm: I am awake but have no intention of removing
myself from the bed without sufficient inducement. Inducement arrives in the
form of turkey and wheedling.
12:45pm: After a
long and messy drink of water, I ascend the Tribute Couch and drip all over
Elizabeth while she scratches me and sucks up by telling me what a good boy I
am. In return I magnanimously allow her
to apply my eye ointment, clean my ears and brush my teeth. Then I lift my head to indicate that it is
time for the scratching between the flews portion of the programme.
1pm: After
another drink of water, most of which has now been wiped on Elizabeth’s pants,
we are out the door! Just in time for
another cookie.
1:10pm: Our
appointment is for 2pm and the vet clinic is a 20-minute walk as the crow
flies; it is, however, a 1-hour walk as the Hound perambulates.
2:00pm: After a
few more urban detours we arrive! Elizabeth has an extensive pre-exam
discussion all about me with the vet tech.
This is very gratifying, although I am not crazy about being weighed and
having my temperature taken. I find consolation in the immediate application of
some turkey.
2:30pm: Lots more touching and petting by team. Everyone impressed by the state of my
nails—middle ones worn down and outer ones like talons. When was the last time
they were cut? Elizabeth mumbles, “uh, like never.” (Not quite true, they were
slightly trimmed once many years ago when I was unfairly placed under
anesthesia).
3:00pm: Elizabeth
hands over credit card on my behalf (again) and I escort her to bathroom to
supervise the interesting activities therein.
3:05pm: We are out the door but instead of going
straight home I find that I have an urgent need to explore 8th
Avenue again.
3:15pm: Decide
that it’s time to head over to the far west side and check out the John Jay
College of Justice (whose sports teams have the bloodhound as a mascot) to see
if I am recognized.
3:30pm: Decide
that a nice walk in Riverside Park is in order after all.
4:00pm: Carry on
at the Pier One Café looking for food.
4:30: Arrive at
Elizabeth’s apartment at last! Inventory
my toy pile then stare at her to demand that she puts something other than
kibble in my food bowl.
4:35pm: Yam, turkey and pumpkin deemed
acceptable. I tuck in. Vet visits are
hungry work!
4:40pm: Elizabeth
wonders if it is too early for gin.
Well I think I will stop there for this week. But before I go I must apologize for the late
blog post. I was almost finished with it
yesterday when Maria called and insisted that Elizabeth and I meet her in
Central Park after work and then that we all go back to my apartment for Dean’s
pizza—my favorite! What with all that
park perambulating and pizza mawing I’m afraid I went to sleep instead of
finishing the post. All this is by way
of explaining that yesterday, when most of this was written, was May 17th
and May 17th is both the anniversary of the birth and the death of
the great Renaissance artist, Sandro Botticelli. My tribute to him from my personal collection
at The Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art his below.
Until next time,
Wimsey, neurologically normal and driving humans
neurologically insane
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