wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #325

Entry #325

December 6, 2013

Hello everyone, it’s me, Wimsey coming to you from the festive burgh of Houndistan- on- Hudson—otherwise known as Manhattan’s Upper West Side, where Thanksgiving is over and Christmas looms large. And as is the case every year the streets are suddenly lined with fragrant pine trees just awaiting a little watering by an eager Hound with a giant bladder. And as is the case every year, my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth dread the sudden appearance of these trees and in Grinch-like fashion take circuitous routes around them and keep me on a tight rein when this is not possible.

I decided this week that if I am not supposed to pee on them, perhaps there is no prohibition about pooping on them—however, there was a shriek of dismay and some rapid and forceful leash work when I attempted to back my butt onto one of their branches. So I guess there is a poop prohibition in effect also, which is strange since in a few weeks the streets will be chock a block with these things and I am then magically permitted to put them to the use that nature intended. What can I say? Human beings are a capricious lot whose natures bear little resemblance to the relentlessly consistent nature of the Hound. If we do not wish our humans to do a thing—like cut our nails, for instance—we do not suddenly wake up one day and decide to allow it. Mine have defeated the ministrations of several generations of groomers and teams of experienced vet techs and the only time that I permitted it, I had no choice.  I was under the influence of a powerful anesthetic. I firmly believe that my thwacking activities would be a lot less impactful if my talons were to be trimmed.

But that is not to say that I am close-minded about presenting a well-groomed appearance.  Elizabeth has me on an every other week rotation of afternoon baths to try to cut down the stench (notice I said “cut down on” and not “eliminate”) and she is a lot more generous about the concomitant turkey feeding than Maria is when she assists.  Also, Elizabeth has taken to using my Zoom Groom to massage me after I have been doused with GrimeInator (yes that really is the name of the shampoo and its name was unsurprisingly the principal reason for its selection). 

 

I am starting to find the bathing process rather pleasing, to say nothing of the extensive towel massage that follows when Elizabeth futilely attempts to dry me.  It does not matter how long I am given a towel massage, nor how many towels are used, once I am wet, I stay wet (of course, getting me wet in the first place is not easy either and involves the lengthy application of a copious quantity of water from a high pressure shower attachment). My humans have tried poking me to get me to shake more and wringing out my wrinkles and skin folds but all to no avail. My fur simply refuses to dry.  And as an added bonus my bath takes up Elizabeth’s afternoon (to say nothing of the time it takes to deconstruct the bathroom in preparation and then reconstruct it afterwards and to get Hound hair off the ceiling) which means that she is not sitting at her computer, or talking of the phone or reading the newspaper or (horror of horrors) leaving me alone to run errands or doing any of the other things that take her focus off of where it belongs—on ME.  And then after my bath Elizabeth prepares me a lovely meal featuring baked yam and the poultry de jour following which I lie all over as many surfaces as possible in order transfer a maximum amount of moisture. But in one of those remarkable Hound achievements, I still remain wet.

Anyway, Christmas is coming—I found this pop up Christmas tree in Central Park—and there are a lot of tourists in town to soak up the magic of Christmas in New York of which I am a well-deserved part. On the downside, any day now the bag containing my seasonal headgear and festive ruff will make its appearance and my humans will try to get me to pose to give the impression that I am content to calmly perambulate about the park caparisoned in antlers and elf hats instead of trying to shake off the vile things and kill them.

 

And today, since it was chilly and wet I decided it was a good time to take a nice long walk to visit the Christmas Fair at the southern end of Central Park. Unfortunately, Elizabeth decided that this was inadvisable as four hands are better than two in restraining my shopping proclivities. And since the fair is such a colorful and traditional scene, my visits deserve to be immortalized photographically, which is difficult to achieve whilst thwarting a Hound with an ardent desire to inspect and test merchandise. But hopefully the three of us will make it down there soon. If not, Elizabeth will be forced to endure an afternoon visit fraught with photographic terror.

Nothing much else is new, unless you count the fact that my humans’ birthdays are coming up in January and Elizabeth is busy planning her annual Escape from Me which ends up being her annual Shopping Trip for Me. Last year it was Istanbul and this year Maui and Brazil are the leading contenders. She is learning to say, “where is the most expensive pet store in town” in both Hawaiian and Portuguese and I am helping her get bikini ready by dragging her around and eating her food.  No one can ever accuse me of being a lily of the field.  We Hounds are always hard at work and we are very good at what we do. It’s what our humans love about us so much. Or not.

And there is never any mystery about what Hounds do—one has only to talk with a human who lives with a Hound to hear astonishing tales of our powers of destruction and other assorted hilarious antics--among them the fact that although we are unable to understand the word “sit” no matter how many times it is repeated, we morph into mini Einsteins when it comes to figuring out how to get something that we want. And unlike the popular song, “What Does the Fox Say,” the whole neighborhood knows what we say. But here are some nuances:

What Does the Hound Say

Gimme that!

It was on the counter and then it suddenly fell on the floor.

I can fling faster than you can wipe.

There is no such thing as inedible.

Those shrubs were in my way.

Waffle truck at nine o’clock!

The floor is good for your back.

I didn’t drink it, I only tasted it.

You can’t work on the computer if you can’t see the screen.

The couch was delicious.

Holes are the new black.

Are you really taking me into the show ring with just that little string around my neck?

Hello! Are you awake? Good, you can scratch me.

I can fit.

Engage tractor beam.

I wish to get to know that squirrel better.

That dream I’m having—I gotta run fast. You want your bra back.

Don’t be ridiculous; we’ve only been out here for a couple of hours!

Your lap, my ass--perfect together.

But they’re trees!

 

But the trees have toys hanging from them!

Candy canes give me minty fresh breath.

Did you say something?

I was invited to that picnic—they were eating on the grass!

Watcha got in those bags?

Here have some manure, it’s delicious!

Mine!

You’re home. Good. My belly needs scratching. 

What do you mean, YOUR couch?

Well, you get the idea. I’m a very verbal Hound. Well I think I will leave it there for this week.  I have a lot of Christmas shopping to do. My humans just hope that it doesn’t involve their shoes.

Until next time,

Wimsey, I say AHROOO! (Mostly at 6am).

 

 

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Mahnattan Bloodhound #324

 
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Entry #234

November 29, 2013

Hello and Happy Thanksgiving everyone! It is me, Wimsey, coming to you from the frosty precincts of Manhattan’s Upper West Side where it feels more like Christmas than Thanksgiving.  But neither my human Maria, who got to come home early from work on Wednesday, nor her friend Elizabeth who, owing to the holiday doesn’t have to cater to my whims for 4 ½ days, is complaining. But before Elizabeth could disembarrass herself of me on Wednesday she had to take me for my afternoon walk.  And since we had a considerable amount of rain it meant that I decided that it was time for another lengthy expedition to Central Park and the traditional watering of the human holding the leash. And just in case Elizabeth was not moist enough I sat on her when she took me back to my apartment where Maria was already home and preparing my lunch.

Because I eat so much turkey since it is impossible to get me to do anything without a bribe (which my humans prefer to think of as “positive reinforcement) this week I have been fed fresh grilled salmon from the gourmet fish market instead.  Whenever anyone observes that I appear to well behaved be (appear being the operative word) and ask my humans how they do it, they have 4 words: The Fairway Deli Counter. We Hounds are by nature a transactional lot and all our behaviors—at least the good ones—come with price tags on them.

But Thanksgiving is all about being thankful so I thought I might share an abbreviated list of the things that my humans are thankful for.

 

Things my Humans are Thankful For

That I bay politely at people when I want what they have instead of just snatching it.

That none of my sidewalk snacks have (yet) resulted in an emergency visit to the vet

That the extra deep couch (which Maria bought to accommodate my pleasingly plus size posterior) is comfortable enough to sleep on when I monopolize the bed and she can’t fit into the sliver that I have left for her.

That I only need an hour’s walk to identify the best spot in which to poop.

That I first resort to charm rather than to larceny to get what I want.

That I help keep New York City parks free of plastic water bottles including the ones still in use that people might throw away later.

That although I will not sleep on my expensive Kuranda bed, I haven’t eaten it.

That although I can bay in my sleep I have not yet learned to fling drool whilst napping.

That people know who my humans are and are nice to them because I am accompanying them.

That I have not yet pulled the ceramic soap holder out of the wall when Elizabeth ties my leash to it in order to bathe me.

That they have an intimate knowledge of all the neighborhood pet shops are and are up to date about all the latest merchandise.

That none of us are ever hungry owing to my frequent forays to visit snack shops and food trucks.

That I have never actually succeeded in stealing dinner from someone eating at an outdoor café.

That someone invented the (heinous) Gentle Leader.

That squirrels and rats run fast.

That I don’t weigh even more.

That I am sufficiently recovered from the tragic closure of the Grom gelato store to instead invade Lush Cosmetics next door and demand snacks from the staff.

That they have not yet fallen over when I shove them out of the way when they put salmon in my food bowl.

That they get plenty of fresh air and exercise whether they want to or not and irrespective of climactic conditions

That I am attentive enough to hygienic matters to demand fresh water when there is drool in my water bowl.

That I wipe my face after a drink on the couch or on them rather than on visitors or the TV set.

That I will stop digging up the Oriental rug if given a large pile of smelly sheets to dig in instead.

That I let Elizabeth know whether anyone has made an unauthorized visit to her apartment by running over to my toy pile and taking inventory as soon as we come in.

That instead of being decorated with piles of colorful and expensive throw pillows their apartments are decorated with piles of colorful and expensive dog toys.

That I alert them to my need to go out by shoving a wet stuffie in their faces and squeaking it.

That I relieve them of the boring peanuts in the mixed nut canister by demanding that they hand feed them to me one at a time.

That instead of permanently destroying the plants in the yard by digging them up I merely alter their shapes by napping on them.

That only my head will fit through the neighbor’s cat flap.

That someone invented Febreze.

That someone invented Grimeinator Shampoo

 

That I am not even bigger.

That I clearly signal when I am about to sneak up on someone and poke them in the butt.

That I clearly signal when I am about to sneak up on someone and stick my head into their grocery bag (NB: Without going into detail, I recommend that if you are shopping on the Upper West Side you not have a baguette sticking out of your shopping bag).

That on road trips I provide moral support for my vehiculalry challenged humans by resting my chin on the driver’s shoulder and giving them encouraging looks in the rear view mirror.

That on road trips I astound, amaze and entertain by performing Houdini-like feats on a wide variety of canine seat belts.

That their lives now have a higher purpose—ME!

I know that there are plenty of Hound people out there with similar lists—like maybe the fact that their Hound did not eat the couch (this week) or that (most) of the furniture still has four legs or that their Hounds only counter surfed healthy items, etc.

But most of all, my humans are simply thankful for me.  As well they should be since I have a lot to put up with—from Maria sometimes wanting to sleep in her bed to Elizabeth not wanting to spend the entirety of every afternoon in Central Park.  I was, in fact, most irritated with Elizabeth this week: I was following an alluring airborne scent that was drifting in over the Hudson from New Jersey when I was suddenly impeded by an inconvenient barrier.  I ordered Elizabeth to immediately remove this heinous obstacle to my olfactory pleasure and she gave me some lame excuse about us having reached the end of the pier. She can be quite difficult at times.

Anyway, I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday and wisely using their time off to engage in productive activities—like making a Christmas list for their Hounds.

Until next time,

Wimsey and his ever-thankful humans

 

Wimsey's Blog: Diary of a Manhattan Bloodhound #323

 
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Entry #323

November 15, 2013

Hello Everyone, it’s me, Wimsey, coming to you from the Upper West Side of Manhattan where le bon temps roulé amid all the magnificent fall foliage. If I were a poetically inclined Hound I would write a paean to the joys of autumn with special mention of the deep mounds of fallen leaves.  These leaves are the stuff of Hound heaven:

1. They hold scent to an amazing degree, causing me to spend countless hours forcing my human Maria and her friend Elizabeth watch me sniff them.  I am sure that the next best thing to sniffing them themselves is watching me do it for the extended amounts of time that I deem mandatory.

2.  I love the sound that they make when I pee on them—kind of like a crunchy rain. This is why I never tire of peeing on them and why my humans think that my entire insides are a giant bladder.

3.  Pooping on fallen leaves also makes a very satisfying sound and has the added benefit of forcing my humans to exhibit advanced excavation skills to collect it.   Finding places to poop that are inimical to poop collection is one of my abiding interests in life and one of the (many) abiding banes of my humans’ existence.

4.  Not only do leaves contain a plethora of snacks in the form of discarded pieces of rotting food and assorted animal spoor but they also constitute a cloaking device that makes such delicacies invisible to the eyes of my humans and prevents them from taking counter measures. Of course these snacks are abundantly obvious to those of us who happen to have noses that are actually designed for smelling things. 

 

And in fall temperatures are brisk enough to be invigorating and are conducive to lengthy and stimulating park perambulations but not so brisk as to require the wearing my heinous collection of winter coats.  Consequently, this week Elizabeth, who is my companion during the day, has been complaining that I have been defining the term “afternoon walk” to once again mean “walk that takes all afternoon.”  This is in contrast to the summer definition of afternoon walk, which means “dash from one air conditioned apartment to the next whilst taking care of only the most minimal amounts of business possible.

Fall also brings the return of Eastern Standard Time which makes life even more inconvenient for my humans since I am on Hound Time.  Hound Time means that when it starts to get dark I start to engage in anticipatory activities relating to my early evening walk in spite of the fact that this walk will not be forthcoming for another hour or two.  Around here, I make sure that Eastern Standard Time is also known as Enhanced Wimsey Walk Chivvying Time.

 

In other news, I have not been to the vet at all this week. It’s shocking!  My humans are still talking about it and the vet staff is all “Where is Wimsey? It’s not like him to stay away so long.” I know that it was remiss of me not to put in an appearance, but I made up for it in other ways this week, principally by taking Elizabeth on extensive and lengthy park expeditions and then squeaking at her when I felt that she was taking too long to prepare my lunch (an afternoon of park perambulating works up an appetite). Or descending into a deep (and immobile) sleep the wide way across the bed just before Maria wants to go to sleep, forcing her to choose between disturbing me or spending another night on the couch.  I’ll leave it to your imagination to decide who slept where.  Or announcing that I wish to go out, which forces my humans to cease whatever they are doing and suit up for some cold weather walking, only to change my mind and be fast asleep when they approach me with a leash.  I could go on, but the Ways of the Hound when it comes to be annoying, aggravating and obnoxious are endless.  It’s a good thing that we are so cute.

But in other exciting news, today is the debut of a streaming TV show from Amazon called Alpha House.  It’s about a bloodhound who lives with four humans. (If it were about the humans it would need to be called Beta House).  I am absolutely certain however that the canine in question will be a TV bloodhound, i.e., one that is too lazy to eat the couch, never counter surfs or eats the important papers out of his humans’ briefcase and doesn’t fling drool all over the alpha walls, the alpha ceilings or the alpha residents. We will probably be fast-forwarding to the scenes that have the bloodhound since they are always the most important ones.

Anyway, for those of you interested in genomics (and who isn’t, especially around here where DNA ranks right up there with Tudor monarchs and broccoli as hot topics of conversation) a recent study shows that domesticated canines are older than previously thought (18,000 years rather than the 10,000-14,0000 usually cited) and that we descend, not from modern wolves, but from an extinct, missing link wolf. Also that we were “domesticated”(I use this term loosely) by hunter-gatherers and not by settled farmers.   And since bloodhounds are a very ancient breed, I am sure that my ancestors were involved in this process:

Hunter-gatherer #1: Hey, look at that bunch of animals following us! I saw them yesterday too. What do you think they want?

Hunter-gatherer #2: I don’t know. I wonder if they are eatable?

Hunter-gatherer #1: They don’t smell very appetizing.

Hunter-gatherer #2: Does anything we eat smell very appetizing? Anyway, they are making that funny noise again and moving off. I wonder where they are going?

Hunter-gatherer #1: Let’s follow them and see!

 

Hunter-gatherer #2: Look, look! They found a juicy boar!

Hunter-gatherer #1:Why don’t they kill it and eat it?  They seem to be staring at us and then staring at the boar.

Hunter-gatherer #2: Maybe they recognize our superiority as hunters and want us to do it. 

Hunter-gatherer #1:  Yes, you are probably right.  After all we are larger, smarter and have opposable thumbs as well as these very powerful weapons. 

 

Hunter-gatherer #2: OK, well that’s done.  Let’s get the meal back to camp.

Hunter-gatherer #1:  Those funny looking animals are still staring at us. And they seem to be producing a lot of drool.

Hunter-gatherer #2:  They are probably hungry.  I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to cut off a little piece and give it to them. They found the boar after all.

Hunter-gatherer #1:  Yes, I agree.  Well, they seem to have enjoyed that piece but they are still drooling.  Let’s give them a little more—it will make less weight to carry to camp.

Hunter-gatherer #2: Good point.  And it’s kind of fun to listen to them make that noise.

Later that evening….

Hunter-gatherer #1:  We’re back! And these funny, smelly, loud animals helped us find a juicy boar.

 

Chief:  Where is it?

Hunter-gatherer #2:  Here!

Chief: Those funny, smelly, loud animals helped you find a boar leg? Where’s the rest of the boar?

Hunter-gatherer #1:  Ummm… they were hungry and we thought we’d share.  They are very cute when they stare at you, you know. And they make the most amazing noise…

Chief: You mean like they’ve just done to get those places next to the fire?

 

Hunter-gatherer #2:  Yes, exactly! But it’s not as though we’d let them sleep in the cave with us or anything…

Hunter-gatherer #1: No, not that. But I bet they would keep us very warm if they did.

Hunter-gatherer #2:  And of course then they’d be around to let us know if there was anything dangerous lurking nearby while we slept.

Hunter-gatherer #1:  And also to find another juicy boar for us in the morning.

Hunter-gatherer #2:  And since they’ve already eaten most of one juicy boar I’m sure they’d let us keep most of the second one.

Hunter-gatherer #1: Or at least more of it.  That big black and tan one is pretty hard to resist.

 Chief: We don’t have a choice. They’re staying.

Hunter-gatherer #2: How come?

Chief: My wife is making the big one a coat.

I’m sure that’s how the domestication of humans started.  Today of course the Modern Hound no longer needs to find juicy boar or anything else edible that doesn’t come out of the refrigerator or off someone’s plate and humans have many more goods and services to offer their Hounds.

Well I will leave it there for this week.  I hope you are enjoying the autumn as much as I am.

Until next time,

Wimsey, a hunter and gatherer of my humans’ time, money and possessions