Naming Pets

Fair reader, let me pose this question: What’s in a name?

Answer: a lot, especially if you ask that of the people around me.

I recently procured, for my mom, the dog breeder, a champion, stud dog from Canada. She wanted to name him “Prince” because he came from Prince George.

There was a collective groan from all of us.

This puppy needed a good name. He already had several strikes against him. He’s an adorable, white, fluffy Bichon Frise…STUD! He really needed a manly name…not Fluffy, not Cotton, NOT Prince.

If there isn’t a great deal of forethought when naming a pet, it backfires. Case in point: Pooh Bear, our lovable pound puppy.

The Idaho Humane Society told us he was part Golden Retriever, part Chow-Chow. Pooh Bear looked like a big, fluffy version of Winnie the Pooh. I wanted to name him Clifford—because I was certain he’d grow up to be a “Big Red Dog.” My husband insisted on “Pooh Bear, because our future kids wouldn’t be able to pronounce ‘Clifford,’” he argued.

This logic backfired.

For the next 13½ half years my husband spent mornings encouraging Pooh to do his business. “Pooh…pee! Pooh…poo. Pooh…peeeeeee!” This was especially entertaining when we went camping. Upon hearing the command “Pooh, pee” neighboring campers would crane their necks just to see what the heck was going on! No manly-man would say, “Pooh, go potty.” Our dog was smart, but saying “Pooh, go number two,” just wouldn’t cut it either. So, there he was…my husband, Mr. Man, sounding like a broken record and getting the strangest looks!

Recently, our friends, the DiMattios adopted a big, Scooby Doo of a dog. A Great Dane they named “Kratos,” taken from the God of War video game. It’s very appropriate. The dog is HUGE. I don’t know what kind of K9 war Kratos would have—but I don’t want any part of it!

Our other dog spent her first two weeks in our home under the moniker of “Spike.” Finally, we landed on the name “Beaujie” when she went head-long into a glass of Neuveau Beaujolais. She emerged red-faced and very satisfied! To this day, no open glass of wine is safe when Beaujie’s around.

Last summer, as we grieved the loss of Pooh Bear, the kids and I decided we’d find a long-haired, German Shepherd for Mr. Man and surprise him for his 50th birthday. We had just seen and l-o-v-e-d the movie “Transformers.” The kids and I wanted to name the dog “Optimus Prime.” We’d call him “Opie” for short. Mr. Man was elated! He’s had a long and enduring affection for the German Shepherd breed. But when we told him the new dog’s name, he said, “ARE YOU CRAZY?” Think it through. “Opie…pee! Opie…poo!” Mr. Man had a point. We ended up calling him “Gnarley” for the first few weeks until our oldest daughter suggested we change the first couple letters. Now, Mr. Man can brag on the fact that “he got a Harley for his 50th birthday.” Harley’s full, registered name is Optimus H. Prime. It was a good compromise and the name fits him.

So, back to the little, fluffy, white dog. The kids suggested “Zeus.” I offered up “Freddie Mac” (now, there’s a scary name for you). Mr. Man, taking into consideration this puppy’s future role in the world, suggested Richard or Peter. That figures.

In the end, I shipped him off to my sister and left her with the task of naming the little guy. I haven’t heard a decision. But knowing that my brother-in-law is as colorful as Mr. Man, I wouldn’t be surprised if they named him Johnson. (Originally published: September 2008/Eagle Independent)