Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #122

Entry # 122
June 5, 2009

Hello Everyone--Wimsey here coming to you from another rain soaked Friday on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Well two weeks ago in anticipation of more hot weather my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth bought me a Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat. And do you know where that coat is now? Still in my closet, that’s where, because ever since it arrived we have been having cool weather. So in spite of the fact that they are itching to try it out (and I am itching to chew it up) the weather has remained miraculously under 75 degrees. Cause and effect? Who’s to know, but my humans are feeling distinctly cosmically thwarted, which is extremely pleasant for me to observe. We Hounds are about nothing if not thwarting human desires in any and all ways possible. Except when those desires directly benefit us of course.

So now, given the current climactic conditions, my humans have turned their attention to trying to find a raincoat large enough for me. For some reason they are getting tired of the great splotches of wet Hound that I leave about after a romp in the rain. And the arrival of a super sized raincoat is bound to herald a prolonged drought. At this rate the size of my wardrobe will exceed that of my humans’ which seems only to consist of smelly jeans and drool stained tee shirts—although this week I noticed that Maria had on a white tee shirt (you would think she would know better by now) and much to her consternation I decided to climb on her and decorate it with two jumbo paw prints you know where. I think Tim Gunn would have approved.

Well it has been an excellent week here nonetheless. On Sunday’s walk I was treated to an extensive session with the Zoom Groom which is a lot like getting a rubberized shiatsu massage. Given the amount of hair that came flying off of me, my humans astutely determined that I am blowing my coat—although usually when I blow my coat I blow it into Maria’s food, face and clothing. Blowing it in whacking great mounds in the park seemed like a total waste (except for the massage part) but I consoled myself with the fact that there is always plenty more where that came from. And then Elizabeth went scurrying back to her apartment to clean it up so I could arrive for Wimsey Bath Night and trash it again, which I did with my usual dynamic bathing style. But I did get to look longingly out at the river and the park before being hauled off into the abhorrent abyss of cleanliness.

However it was all worth it because on Monday I was taken to the 72nd subway stop to meet My Entourage for the Day—Marmalade’s human from Maryland and her visiting brother and his wife from Vancouver. It was fantastic! The greeting, the scratching, the admiration! And I got to show them around Central Park—kind of like being on a Wimsey safari.


The Wimsey Safari

Wimsey: Welcome to the Wimsey Game Park which locals also refer to as Central Park. First I must caution you not to annoy any of the wildlife-- I am the only one allowed to do that.

Guest: But can we at least take pictures?

Wimsey: Yes, with the proviso that I have to appear in all of them. Now first I want to call your attention to this very large old oak tree Quercus urinalis. It is one of my very favorites upon which to pee. Of course if you pee on it you will get arrested. Peeing en plein air is one of the many privileges accorded to a Hound by authority of the mayor. Anyway, notice how the tree trunk has many fine ridges into which the rivulets of pee can flow, thus dispersing the intoxicating scent. And with what else do you associate oak trees?

Guest: Acorns?

Wimsey: Correct! And as we all know, where there are acorns there are squirrels! So not only is this a fine tree upon which to pee but is makes a fine medium upon which to tree squirrels—although treeing them isn’t generally what I have in mind but Central Park squirrels develop exceptional speed. Now if you will quietly walk 20 meters to your left you will see one of the most exciting sights that the park has to offer.

Guest: A celebrity?

Wimsey: No, a herd of Homo picnicus peacefully grazing! Aren’t they magnificent? Look at the small one to the right holding the sandwich that could so easily be snatched. But a better strategy is to approach a herd of Homo picnicus respectfully with an adorable expression on one’s face and strings of drool hanging about one’s muzzle. This elicits their well known food sharing behavior and characteristic cries of “He’s so cute!”

Guest: Isn’t begging illegal?

Wimsey: Not for a Hound. In fact people are disappointed if you don’t. They feel you are casting aspersions on their taste in food ("But this foie gras is from Zabar’s!"). And sometimes you don’t have to beg—just the sight of you elicits food sharing behavior. Anyway, my nose has detected something that will interest you all I am sure—Canis minisculum maniacii --a wild puppy of Central Park!

Guest: I thought puppies were domestic animals?

Wimsey: Normally yes, but when they enter the Park they transform themselves into wild beasts. Especially when I bay at them and twirl around on my back in front of them. Then they pounce savagely and dig their little teeth lustily into a wrinkle and growl ferociously. I mean of course a lion is going to bring down an impala but how much more thrilling is it to see a fierce ten pound puppy bring down an enormous Hound?

Guest: Will there be much blood?

Wimsey: Well their teeth are pretty sharp but I promise not to wipe too much of it on you. And if we look to the left we will see a pair of Homo constabularis doughnutum. Very fine specimens they appear to be too. Notice their distinctive blue coloration and watchful behavior. They are among my favorite species in the park but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of them. If you try and do anything I do like peeing, begging or stealing they’ll arrest you.

Guest: But they don’t appear to have any doughnuts with them.

Wimsey: No. The "doughnutum" is something of an anachronism. Doughnut shops were overgrazed in the 70s and constabularis has since moved on to alternative sources of nutrition such as the grande latte. Now don’t move! Coming straight towards us is a pride of Touristii fannypackus and several of them are carrying plastic water bottles, a common behavior amongst this group. If you are very quiet you will observe them taking pictures of me—it’s one of their most characteristic behaviors—pictures of ridiculously large Hounds being highly prized in their culture. And if I speak to them in a forthright manner they are likely to relinquish their water bottles for me to play with. However, if you speak to them in a forthright manner they are likely to run away and call for help.

Guest: I had no idea the park was so interesting.

Wimsey: Yes, and now to conclude our tour I want you all to watch me dive into that big bush (Poopus crypticus) and poop. The first one who can find it wins a new squeaky toy.


Anyway, it was wonderful to walk about with this expanded out of town entourage and I was paid my accustomed guest tribute in the form of a cup of my favorite Grom Gelato (vanilla) and cadged some of Maria’s pistachio which I also consider to be very fine. The visitors also got to experience Dean’s Pizza (of which I was awarded two slices of pepperoni and extra cheese). The bath notwithstanding, I am hoping for some more visitors soon.

And when I walked them to the subway station and said goodbye another fellow decided he must have my picture and give me a nice scratch. I wonder why people say Hounds don’t belong in the city—I mean constant attention, 800 acres of park a few minutes away, Grom Gelato, gourmet pizza, a plethora of vertical surfaces, Hound friendly police, the occasional Hound loving celebrity, squirrels, ducks, geese and raccoons… what’s not to love?

Well before we check in at the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art, I received a very nice email from a producer of Animal Planet’s Breeds 101 who would like to know if there are any amusing stories about me or if I do anything special. Now this sent my humans into serious head scratching mode as just by my very nature (richly entitled and relentlessly relentless) I am a pretty entertaining fellow and being a giant Hound in New York City is pretty special. But they weren’t sure that baying at people and flinging drool on them exactly qualifies as a special talent. Here is what I would have sent:

Things that are special about Me

I’m really big.

I’m very smelly

I get very loud when I want something

I get very loud when I object to something you are doing or about to do

I like to sit on laps even though I don’t really fit

I like to sit on park benches even though I am not a person

I stick my head in people’s shopping bags

I produce copious quantities of drool

I can fling this drool really, really far (I flung some drool into the air, where it landed I know not where—but almost certainly it was on some poor, irate human).

Like Lord Byron I am “mad, bad and dangerous to know” (particularly the dangerous to know part—few humans escape proximity to me without sustaining some degree of damage)

I am really part tractor

I don’t care if you want to work, I want to be scratched

I don’t care what you want me to do, I only care what I want me to do

I like to be attacked by puppies—the littler the better

I am a passionate collector of plastic bottles

I like to ride in cars particularly when I can make frequent supervisory forays to the front

If it’s vertical, it’s mine

I am only alive because my humans have a sense of humor

I am an intensely self-actualizing Hound


But enough about me. That was a joke! Can there really ever be enough about me? I don’t think so. Even the lady from FedEx Kinko’s where my humans were getting more of my business cards with my picture made up was impressed by the intensity of my cuteness; and the plumber who came to fix Elizabeth’s shower this afternoon was impressed by my size—he finished the job and was out in the door in a nanoseconds (she’ll know who to blame if her shower explodes tomorrow).

Anyway, today our first masterpiece from the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art comes to us once again from the second grade class of the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. The artist is Kylee and she is depicting an imaginary meeting between myself and her teacher’s bloodhound Gus. The meeting is taking place in an elevator and we see the happy body language of the two Hounds and their unnamed human handlers. But really this painting is about color and rhythm—particularly beautiful are the patterns of clouds at the top border which are drawn with very elegant lines. And then we have the bold rhythmic color of the building itself whose shade of rose perfectly complements the blue of the sky. This is Gus and Wimsey meeting in an Elevator.

Our next artist is McKayla who has imagined me as a puppy. The title of the work is This is when you were a baby Wimsey and I didn’t know what you look like when you were a baby and you still look cute you are so cuddly. Now this is another artist who has a strong sense of line and rhythm—we note with interest the cross hatching of the grass and the strong lines delineating the canine figure. She references the nature of the figure by including my deep forehead wrinkle, my lengthy pink tongue and my black saddle. A touch of color is added by the orange stripe-the result of an infantile leg lift perhaps—that the artist added as a touch of whimsy?

Well it’s time to get toweled off from my last walk and have a long conversation with my stuffed squeaky dog.

Until next time

Wimsey, New York’s number one canine attraction (not counting Balto)

Wimsey's Blog; Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #121

Entry #121
May 29, 2009

Hello everyone. It’s me Wimsey coming to you from my temporary perch overlooking Riverside Park on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. I am a bit gimpy as I slid down some freshly waxed stairs this week, so my human Maria has sent me over to stay with her friend Elizabeth as Elizabeth’s building has an elevator. All of this means that I have had another human whose life I can disrupt, which is a source of intense pleasure to this large and stinky Hound. Elizabeth’s apartment now reeks of my delectable Hound scent, bits of kibble decorate her kitchen floor and an impressive array of drool art adorns her walls.

Better yet, on our afternoon walks I have been vigorously towing (being gimpy never prevents a Hound from towing) her over to the Boat Basin Café located on the Hudson River marina where she consoles herself with a beer while I flop down on the cool stone floors and am made much of by the staff and patrons. In addition to drinking in the afternoon, I have also introduced Elizabeth to the pleasures of an afternoon nap with a Hound. Thus she got to experience first hand the delights of the tail thumping you in the stomach dream and the paws running on your back dream and also the Hound squeaking and snorting in your ear dream, so I am not sure how much napping actually took place. At least for her. This attempted napping was something of a necessity because Elizabeth apparently doesn’t sleep well at night when at any moment she is under threat of being pounced upon by a giant affectionate Hound.

Now if you read last week’s post you know that I am about to become a Swamp Thing. A Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat was ordered for me because I am decidedly a Wilting Wimsey when the temperature goes much above 70 degrees (we Hounds are delicate flowers under all our wrinkles and drool). No sooner did the coat arrive than the temperature plummeted into the 50’s so I have not yet had the pleasure of trying it out, but I think that this weekend might provide an opportunity. Miraculously the thing does fit and I look very much the Space Age Wimsey in it (it’s a reflective ice blue). Maybe I will be mistaken for a space alien:

New Yorker 1: Run! We are being invaded by space aliens!

New Yorker 2: How do you know? This is New York City. Space aliens would blend in rather well here.

New Yorker 1: I’ve never seen anything like this before.

New Yorker 2: Well what did this space alien look like?

New Yorker 1: It had a long saggy brown face like melting wax and a metallic ice blue body and giant feet. It was also emitting viscous slime.

New Yorker 1: Are you sure it wasn’t just a Hound?

New Yorker 2: I don’t think ice blue is an acceptable Hound color. Of course I’d have to check with the AKC on that one.

New Yorker 1: What was the alleged space alien doing?

New Yorker 2: Well it was speaking in an alien tongue. I’m pretty sure it was saying “take me to your leader.”

New Yorker 1: Well then it couldn’t have been a Hound. They always say “I am your leader take me your food.”

New Yorker 2: Maybe I was mistaken on that but it was charging about. And rampaging. And scaring people-- except for the people who thought it was kind of cute.

New Yorker 1: That does sound like a Hound...

New Yorker 2: But why was he metallic then?

New Yorker 1: Perhaps he is an escapee from Project Runway.


Anyway, I could have used the coat this Sunday when the warm and muggy conditions meant that my multi hour walk in Central Park pretty much degenerated into my humans trying to find cool and leafy spots for me to hang out in. We did come upon a large picnic in the Ramble and my humans thought it would be fun to have a photograph of me admiring it. Unfortunately right after this picture was snapped I attempted to charge into its midst to the accompanying shrieks of “Wimsey, No!”—two of the most beautiful words in the English language. Whenever I hear them I know that I am about to have some serious fun. Sadly the combined tow weights of Maria and Elizabeth were sufficient to prevent the impending picnic invasion from actually occurring-- I find that most New Yorkers enjoy having their picnics crashed by a voracious, smelly and drool-flinging Hound. Personally I would like to see a photo montage of me annoying people in the park—the canoodling couples I try to get a good sniff of, the picnics I try to crash, the musicians whose instruments I would like to chew and of course the mimes who I know I could make squeal. But I have as yet been unable to persuade my humans to let me work my magic (or wreak my havoc) for the benefit of the camera—clearly they have no artistic sensibility. Or maybe they just don’t have any good lawyers.

But I did get to hide myself in the bushes—can you spot me? I think these bushes would make excellent camouflage :

Picnicker 1: Did you see that bush move?

Picnicker 2: What bush?

Picnicker 1: That large green one over there with the long brown ears.

Picnicker 2: I didn’t see anything. But something smells funny. Are you sure this cheese is OK?

Picnicker 1: What’s that noise?!

Picnicker 2: Probably just some coyotes.

Picnicker 1: There are coyotes in Central Park?

Picnicker 2: There’s everything in Central Park.

Picnicker 1: I’m sure I brought a quiche. It seems to have vanished. Why is there a slurping noise coming from that bush?

Picnicker 2: It’s probably the noise from the stream.

Picnicker 1: Is the stream yellow?

Picnicker 2: Maybe it’s someone’s national holiday and they dyed it to celebrate.

Picnicker 1: The sandwiches are gone too!

Picnicker 2: It’s stress. I am sure you just forgot them.

Picnicker 1: In fact the only think left of the picnic are the plates.

Picnicker 2: Were they paper or China?

Picnicker 1: China.

Picnicker 2: That explains why they’re left.


I don’t think the bush would be much help when I raid the laundry bin, I might have to get more creative for that one. But it is not so far fetched that I could be mistaken for a bush or a space alien. Now as I have discussed before, I frequently get mistaken for a pretty impressive variety of dog breeds and mixes, but this week set a new record. First on Sunday someone asked Elizabeth what kind of dog I was and Elizabeth—who to be fair does have a soft voice (except of course when she’s speaking to me)—answered “a bloodhound.” To which the gentleman replied, “Oh, a Boykin.” For those unfamiliar, this is what a Boykin looks like. Can you see the resemblance? The Boykin is 30-40 lbs and eager to please. Just like me! Now one would have thought that anyone who actually knew that Boykin was not the Yiddish word for boy would also probably know that if I were one I was a severely mutated one (or better yet, a Boykin from outer space!)

But at least the Boykin guy got the species correct. When Maria and I were out walking later in the week we were passed by two men, one of whom pronounced confidently to the other that I was a Red Bull. Granted my behavior has frequently been compared to someone who has consumed too much of that beverage and I am very large and I am quite red. And I do like to butt people with my head. But a bull? And they hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of my impressive tackle from behind! Still, I guess it’s better than being mistaken for a Shar Pei.

We also met a guy who was very excited to see me because he used to train bloodhounds. Now the funny thing is is that my humans knew immediately that he meant he trained bloodhounds for search and rescue not that he trained bloodhounds for the obedience ring. I mean apart from the sheer arduousness of the task, why would you? There are easier ways to make a living than trying to get one such as me to mind my p's and q’s. I would much rather steal your p's and q's (also your dinner and your socks) skills at which we bloodhounds excel naturally.

Well the other big new around here is that on Monday, Marmalade, one of our bloodhound blogging buddies, is sending one of her humans to New York City to see us. Perhaps I will be able to impress her human with my new Swamp Coat. Of course she will not get the full Wimsey treatment as plans are afoot to bathe me on Sunday but I am confident that I will find a few other ways to demonstrate my mastery of Houndship (like digging a few holes—it makes my nose a lovely color, don’t you think?—or invading a few picnics).

Now as in previous weeks, the Wimsey Institute of Houndish art is please to present masterworks from the second graders of the Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. I am particularly pleased with this collection since I am the subject of all their pictures. The guiding principle of the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art is that every picture looks better with a Hound in it (my humans have thought of explaining this to the couples posing for their wedding pictures in Central Park as we believe I would make a fine addition to anyone’s matrimonial memories. And I show up particularly well against white satin).

Our first work is by Jerod whose Wimsey Driving a Motorcycle (inspired by a picture of me doing so in a previous post) has clearly fused the Renaissance concept of including action at multiple time points with the modern aesthetic of pop artist Roy Lichtenstein. This allegory prominently displays me at the helm of a powerful machine on the left part of the canvas. The artist has even included a self portrait of himself hanging off the back as I take off at speed. But then our eye is drawn to the action sequence denoted by helpfully drawn arrows that depict what happens when a Hound (who in the spirit of his breed is undoubtedly driving without a license) drives too fast. Sadly, I come to grief as all must who defy the laws of physics in favor of a fleeting dopamine induced surge of thrill seeking joy. Such a mature outlook in one so young.

Our next masterwork is Julian’s This is Gus and Wimsey—another fictive meeting of the Great Manhattan Hound and the Great Hound of the Yukon. Here we see life stripped to its essentials—sun, sky, trees and grass. However, in what would otherwise be a rather derivative painting, the artist has managed to convey the celestial qualities of these magnificent creatures by making them appear to float angelically above the earth. The artist has considerately placed no figures below who might be subject to the unfortunate consequences of one of the things Hounds do best so as not to mar the serenity of the scene. Both Hound figures look beatifically out at us as they meet in heavenly conclave. All in all, a very fine work.

Well I have temporarily been returned to the bosom of family (literally-- I like to drape myself on Maria’s torso) owing to the black circles under Elizabeth’s eyes which are becoming a cause for concern. But she has courteously sent me home with a supply of both boiled and roasted chicken to remember her by. Will keep you posted.

Until next time,

Wimsey, the Raging Red Boykin

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #120

Entry #120
May 22, 2009

Hello Everyone, Wimsey here coming to you direct from Manhattan’s Fleet Week, which is being held in honor of Memorial Day. All week whacking great ships have been steaming into New York Harbor and disgorging young men and women in spotless white attire. They are every Hound’s dream canvas, but sadly neither my human Maria nor her friend Elizabeth will allow me to muzzle paint them. This is a great shame since my spring drool palette now includes a variety of shades of green as well as my usual fine array of rich browns. And of course I create wonderfully textured patterns through the use of abundant plant material and thick clots of earth that I carry about in my skin folds for just such an occasion. I am sure these folks would be the envy of their shipmates were they to be seen wearing an original work of Wimsey art. Still, Fleet Week is a very festive time with New Yorkers buying drinks and giving directions to all these nautical visitors. And you can even go on board and visit these ships:

Aboard the USS Hound

Captain: Arooo Aroo Aroo…

Visitor: Stop! You’re hurting my ears!

Captain: But that is my bay of triumph because I found you.

Visitor: But you didn’t find me. I found you.

Captain: Nonsense. Who’d want to find a Hound?

Visitor: Very true. I guess you’re right.

Captain: Hounds are always right. It is one of our finer qualities.

Visitor: Yes, I can see that. What can you show me today?

Captain: Well as a special honor we can lend you these sturdy rubber boots and a tight nose clip and take you to visit the poop deck. It’s the crew’s favorite spot on the entire ship! We have a special buffet set up there as well.

Visitor: What you eat on the poop deck!

Captain: Yes. It’s very efficient that way. Especially when cook goes on a health kick and puts bran in the kibble.

Visitor: Well what are you serving?

Captain: Liver and cheese canapés, broiled liver sandwiches, pate, liverwurst, stir fried liver, chopped liver, pureed liver dip ‘n crunchy liver chips, leberknodel…

Visitor: What’s leberknodel?

Captain: Liver dumplings.

Visitor: Do you have anything that is not liver?

Captain: Well if you can catch the ship’s squirrel you can eat him, but he’s very fast.

Visitor: I think I’ll pass. What’s that smell?

Captain: This is a ship of Hounds.

Visitor: No, not that smell. The smell coming from over there.

Captain: Oh, Lieutenant Hubert is wearing his pee coat. He’s very proud of it-- he is our most decorated officer.

Visitor: Well how about you show me all your high tech equipment.

Captain: We sold it to the herding group. We have a ship’s complement of 200 Hounds. If it’s out there they will know it well before the radar and sonar.

Visitor: And what is the mission of the USS Hound?

Captain: Search and destroy.

In any case even without the sailors it has been a very social week—I seem to be running into all kinds of puppies these days and I also got to enjoy some collaborative stick chewing with a Catahoula mix called Blue. But then the weather turned very summery, which I personally find very annoying. And when I am annoyed I become even more recalcitrant and oppositional than usual as a matter of principle. So whatever direction my humans want to walk in I categorically refuse to go that way. Then I flop down in the grass and refuse to move or I climb up on a bench and remain likewise inert.

But I have to say, I never look as massive and majestic, not to say as cute, as when I am sitting on a bench next to the diminutive Elizabeth. Whenever I do this there are squeals of delight from passersby and flashbulbs pop. Actually there are no popping flashbulbs these days as everything is digital but you get the idea. Anyway, my humans are always trying to get me to sit, lie down and stay but I prefer to do these things at times and of durations of my own choosing. I’m a bloodhound—it’s how I roll. We Hounds are capable of doing many things, just not when you want us to do them—like when I “give paw” by whacking my humans with one when they stop scratching me.

Well all this unexpected hot weather and my sudden predilection for the couch rather than the outdoors (can you tell which of us is the stuffed toy?) has caused much consternation to my humans. So much so that yesterday they brought out the dreaded tape measure which I attempted to evade by fleeing to the bedroom, wriggling on my back and trying to shred the dastardly thing with my mouth. Trust me, no good ever comes of being measured—the arrival of some undesirable piece of equipment or apparel is always the ensuing result. In this case it turns out that a Ruff Wear Swamp Cooler cooling coat has now been ordered for me (in the largest possible size!) so I will no doubt be giving you my views on its merits in future posts. My humans are also looking forward to vocal New Yorkers yelling at them for having a dog wearing a coat in hot weather. But once again they will be taking one for the team (me).

Meanwhile, Elizabeth has her own swamp cooler. It’s called a caipirinha and she considers it to be the perfect antidote to time spent with a resistant and stubborn Hound (all of which is redundant--Hound is sufficient). Anyway, she learned to make this drink in Rio and it has since been renamed the Wimsey Cocktail and needless to say, what with this tropical weather and this un-tropical me, she has been consuming quite a number of them. (The Wimsey Cocktail: 1) cut one lime into small pieces and place in a short cocktail glass 2) sprinkle with two teaspoons sugar 3) mash the lime and sugar well with a pestle or other implement 4) add a couple of ice cubes 5) fill glass with cachaça ((Brazilian rum)) 6) shake—either with the top of the cocktail shaker on the top of the glass as they do in Brazil or in a cocktail shaker 7) consume 8) forget about being humiliated by your Hound.

Personally I just think my humans are jealous of all the admiration that I get. Not only am I admired for my cuteness, wrinkles, ears, rich red coat and fine voice but also for that which all males aspire to be admired Yes, I am proud to say that my testicles come in for more than their fair share of laudatory comment. Now as Elizabeth and I were waiting for Maria outside the bodega yesterday evening three gentlemen began exclaiming over my general beauty before one of them noticed that I was still in possession of a fine pair of boy bits. Well, this caused quite a stir: “And look! He’s even still got his _____ (insert colloquial name for male gonads; Hint: they did not use a refined term such as nards, cahones or even stones, but rather a word whose vulgarity I feel is at odds with the elevated tone of this post) exclaimed one. And the other two: “Beautiful, beautiful” and “What a beautiful pair of ______!” and so forth. I was beaming. I really do consider my _____ to be one of my best features. But I am grateful that my ladies didn’t measure them this week. I live in mortal fear that some misguidedly helpful human will invent supportive wear for the larger male canine. We Wimseys strongly prefer to go commando.

Also this week, on Sunday’s long park perambulation we ran into a troupe of actors performing Shakespeare (this is New York after all). They were unfortunately not in costume but if you look closely you can see one of them brandishing a sword. My ladies looked at each other with but one mischievous thought—how would the actors cope should a large Hound be extemporaneously inserted into the action? Sadly they lacked the cahones, but it might go something like this:

Shakespeare in the Park with Wimsey

Duke of Gloucester: Forsooth my lord… What means this! (Enter a Hound) A giant Hound hast entered into our midst?

Duke of Bedford: Mayhap he hath mistaken his way. Should he not be taking yon path over to the realm of my lord of Westminster?

Duke of Gloucester: Aye he is certainly a comely enough Hound to appertain to my Lord of Westminster’s household. What doth he here, I wonder?

Earl of Salisbury: Methinks he hath been exiled.

Duke of Bedford: How so My Lord for sure he is handsome?

Earl of Salisbury: Aye. Handsome he is, this intruding Hound. Yet he hath held steadfastedly to his native gait, the pace, and eschewed the much valued trot.

Duke of Gloucester: Can this be so? A pacing Hound at the court of Westminster. Surely grounds for exile!

Earl of Salisbury: And yet too, yon Hound refus’ed most insistently to endure The Stack, preferring to place his feet as he would and according to his whim and his nature.

Duke of Bedford: Most foul Hound! A miscreant Hound if ever one drew breath.

Earl of Salisbury: And yet not satisfied with such mischief the Hound raised his voice in high protest against the proceedings of the Court, deafening those standing nigh. And we here tell that, in spite of all efforts contrary, he produceth much slime upon the limbs and raiment of those come out to judge him.

Duke of Gloucester: Out out damned spot indeed! Or a multiplicity of spots I fear. It is no wonder that he hath been so cast out of the realm of Westminster.

Earl of Salisbury: And amorous Hound that he is, he hath courted the ladies when such was not to be countenanced.

Duke of Bedford: Fie! What Houndly behavior hath this creature wrought. But he seems mightily attached to you Salisbury.

Earl of Salisbury: Yea, those of Houndish intent are mightily ensorcelled by the aromatics of beef finely ground and grilled.

Duke of Gloucester: Such a comely Hound as he may prove his worth when we take to the field against the perfidious French at Agincourt-- stealing provisions, giving chase to the knightly steeds, sowing confusion and destruction about him and making fearsome noises. For in these things he appears well suited by nature.

Duke of Bedford: Agreed, for even yet as we speak hath mine cloak and mine dinner been made off with.

Duke of Gloucester: Let us away and find him forthwith! (Exeunt, assembled nobles).

Well now before I leave you all for some personal grooming and a well deserved nap we will take a stroll over to the Wimsey Institute of Houndish Art where, as with last week, we are examining pictures of me created by the second graders of Denali Elementary School in Fairbanks, Alaska. Our first work is an abstract piece by Brandon. At first glance we are unsure of what to make of the scene. The artist has drawn our eye to the red sun and red beak of a bird. Symbols of life, perhaps? Equally our eye is drawn to the rhythmic blue sky border at the top of the piece and the blue door below. Symbols of opportunity? But then we notice the green hotel sign and we realize that we are looking at an interpretive view of Manhattan and we perceive that there is a car with a dog’s head hanging out. The artist has employed an interesting mix of color and lack of color that gives the piece a collage-like feel to capture the dynamic bustle and confusion of New York. Brandon: Wimsey Sticking His Head Out of the Window of a Car.

Next we have a picture by Joseph depicting a fictive meeting between Gus (his teacher’s bloodhound) and myself. Both Hounds stand in a satisfyingly rectilinear pose and look boldly out at us, their excitement made palpable by their display of tongue. In an otherwise barren landscape the artist has chosen to include the one feature essential to the happiness of a male bloodhound—a delightfully sturdy tree. The artist has also made an extremely interesting compositional choice, dividing his canvas into decreasing blocks of three. The blocks echo the rectilinear stance of the canine figures and although the figurative panel is not the largest block, its lack of background color emphasizes the importance of the animals depicted. Joseph: Wimsey and Gus Meeting Each Other.

Well that’s it for this week—hope you all enjoy your Memorial Day and that you don’t have to indulge in too many Wimsey Cocktails (BTW: Gus’s human is a big fan of them). But my humans are off buying more limes.

Until next time,

Wimsey, Gem of the Ocean and proud possessor of the most beautiful set of _________ on the island of Manhattan.