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Are You Sure You Want to Name Him Doogie Schnauzer?

There was a story the other day about some parents who had given their child the ill-fated name of Adolf Hitler.  As a teacher, I’ve been party to many urban legend discussions about poor choices for appellations (such as Vaseline – pronounced like Rosalyn, but with a “V” at the beginning).  

We have a little more leeway with pet names, fortunately, as dear Wonderbutt can attest to.  However, this post should serve as a warning that even pet names should be chosen with some thought to the possibility that you may need to yell that name in public some day:

Example #1 – My sister, affectionately known as Crash, texted me the other day that her dog had disappeared the night before.  They searched for awhile, but the dog, who is old, deaf and has very dark fur, was impossible to find that evening.

The next morning, her husband found the dog, thankfully, and she is perfectly fine.  Crash had me LOL, though, when she texted me about the incident.

The dog’s name (Crash told me I did not have to use a pseudonym in my blog since that would pretty much ruin the story) is Timber.

Crash’s words in her text, and I quote, “U can only call Timber so much before people think u need to be committed.”

Good point.  So, if you live on the East Coast somewhere, and you heard someone walking around yelling, “Timber!” over and over again a couple of nights ago, rest assured that you were not being warned of the imminent collapse of a tree onto your roof.  And it wasn’t an escaped mental patient.  Although we do fondly question my sister’s mental state sometimes.

Timber - Lost, Then Found


Example #2 – My friend, The Dictator, found a cat on the beach when she was on Spring Break during her high school years.  The cat was pretty skinny, which is how she explained to her mother the cat’s regrettable name – Boner.

Unfortunately for The Dictator’s mother, Boner was an outside cat who needed to be called in for dinner each night.  Luckily, their neighbors were either ignorant of the “street” meaning of the name, or too well-bred to ever mention the incongruity of a middle-aged woman stepping out into her backyard (which bordered a golf course) and yelling, “Boner!  Boner!” every night while everyone was trying to eat dinner.

I don't have a picture of Boner. And, quite frankly, I didn't want to Google that.


Enough said.

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