Sunday, March 9, 2014

What's In a Name?


           Naming our pets was always a big deal growing up. My dad, lover of dogs, had some great ones: Dumpy (the dog we found at the dump); Inky (the dog that kept getting out of the pen) and Liberace (Ok. We never actually named him this, but Dad wanted to, because he really was the “pee-in-est” pup we’d ever seen.)
Cat names held meaning as well…
There was Sugar and Spice (brother and sister off breeds: one white, one…obviously a spicey-orange tabby)...
There was Gypsy, the Ramblin’ Rose (the cat I never should’ve let in the house for he was not domesticated AT ALL, but it did teach me how to bleach out rugs and move furniture around at a rather early stage in life)...
And of course, there’s my cat today: Boo--short for Kitten ka Boodles (obviously named when he was a kitten…Today, the Boo part sticks…Helps that he’s solid black with pumpkin-orange eyes)...
Lest you think it ends with dogs and cats, well, my hamsters also had names with meaning. 
For instance, Turp & Tine. Turp wound up escaping his cage while I was on a church choir trip. Sadly, he died a slow, torturous death when he made his way to Mom’s sewing kit and swallowed a needle. Once we mourned his loss, he was replaced by Val…(Go ahead. Plug it in. It works. Only so many names go with Tine.)
I also take fish names seriously. Presently I have Picasso, my beta (forever in his blue period) fish. Then there's my “on my desk” inspiration for writing fish-- Jonathan Livingston Beta Fish, always aspiring for more than just food, yet always there to encourage me to write.  Then there’s Lewey Lew-eye…The fish with one eye. It didn’t start out this way; originally I thought I’d bought two female betas, which I’d named Thelma and Louise. Turns out Louise was a guy, and eventually lost one eye in a fight with Thelma, hence Lewie Lew-eye today lives in his own tank. (Gotta be creative in moments like these.)

So it stands to reason, now that I’ve decided God really wanted me to keep not one, but TWO of Rosey’s pups (after all, we’re about to fence off the back lot for a different breed of goats, well…stands to reason these goats will need their own Prys, will they not? See Karlen rationalize)…

It's time for a name.

The girl pup got named early. Addison (my 12-year-old neighbor) came up with that one. Her name would be Rosebud. With an immediate liking to one of Rosey’s two female offspring, Addison fought for (and won the debate with) “Awww...but Rosey needs a bud" plus, "Rosebud’s a little bud off the main branch of Rosey” (Good logic Addison. Plus, the pup was just so dang cute. Ok. Rosebud it is. Rosebud stays.)

What I had NOT planned on was keeping a second pup. But life has a funny sense of timing when it comes to love and heart strings. When someone backed out last minute on their male pup for (get this) tax purposes (something I LOL’d when I heard, given my last two days) But then I took it as a sign…I confess…I wasn’t all that upset. Matter of fact, I had already fallen in love with the little dude and could not imagine Rosebud without at least one playmate her own size.

So…
In a moments of weakness, the real test comes when something around here gets a name…
The obvious choice for Rosebud’s brother…(drumroll please) ….
CK (For those who know the movie, I need say no more…For those who don’t…Well, It’s short for Citizen Kane…My Marlon Brando dog, forever here to protect his forever love—Rosebud, born in the snow globe of winter.)

And this, ladies and gentlemen…is how dogs get their names.

Post Script: The only way to make this more appropriate would be if Rosebud had been a sled dog. (OK. So three people got that.) But to Darby, my Siberian husky companion of 15 years in my late 20s and entire 30s, no offense, sweet angel dog, but goats kinda prefer Pyrs to wolf breeds, I've discovered. But do know sweet Darby-dog,...I sense your spirit around me still...(howling ever near). 

No comments:

Post a Comment