I and my family possess an uncanny ability to name animals. Allow me to persuade you.
My tiny black dog was named Cricket (the name Hershey came in a solid second). I named the scruffy stray dog that found me, Scruffy.
Growing up we had Ginger Dog who was—not coincidentally—a ginger dog. Snowball was a white furry dog. There was a guinea pig named Guinea and after he went to the “farm” he was replaced without much pomp by his successor Guinea 2. There was also Rabbit 1 and Rabbit 2 (lest you think this uninventive please know the T was silent).
As descriptive as our pet names have been, we also love a good pet story. Following are titles to our most told pet stories:
- Get a Load of that Dog! A heartwarming story of a dead road-animal whose feline or canine status was never determined.
- Stevie the Dog. A tale as old as time. Stevie shared all his toys and then he died.
- Snowball, the Superdog. She could talk and flush toilets but the Landlord wouldn’t let us keep her.
- Igor and Ginger—a May December Romance (Spoiler Alert: Ginger/December died first).
- Monkey’s Out! An epic thriller of a monkey who hated small children who also lived with 11 small children.
On our recent trip to the Netherlands, Joan and I along with our husbands, met Doug and Sharon, from Australia. Both quiet, they were the perfect dinner guests for us each night because Piermans need an audience (Sidenote: Spellcheck changed that to Piermans need an Audi so now I’ve got to go shopping). We wielded our yarns night after night while Doug and Sharon mostly listened.
One night we were telling Doug and Sharon an animal story when Doug mentioned that he and Sharon used to have a pet lamb. Silenced (by the lamb), we sat there—hands cupping our chins—listening to Doug and Sharon’s endearing stories of this pet lamb who requested attention by head butting Doug’s newspaper. A lamb who knocked on the door with her cloven hoof in order to retrieve a carrot from a basket they kept inside. They’d answer the door, she’d choose her carrot and then saunter away.
Once they had to leave the lamb for a spell and checked her in to the local agricultural college for her “hotel” stay. When they returned a week or two later, Sharon went to retrieve her lamb amongst a thousand other lambs in a grass field, all heads extended downward so that only a wave of woolen backs in variant shades of white could be seen. Sharon bemoaned, “How in the world will I find her?” Feeling helpless, she did the only thing she knew to do and timidly called out over the flock,
In a sea of bodies only one head popped up and it preened toward the voice. The imposters began to part as Lamby made her way toward her owner.
Lamby. (Lest you think this uninventive, please know the B is silent). But for the uplifting ending to their story, Doug and Sharon could be Piermans. Because let’s face it, naming animals is an art form.
Let me hear from you. What artful names did your pets have?
Follow me on Instagram @alisonoshel or Facebook at Alison Oshel https://www.facebook.com/1165939493