We give our dogs first and last names in my house. Mostly me. I don't give them social security numbers or apply for Visa or Mastercards under their names, create myspace pages or match.com profiles…so its not like I'm crazy or anything…its just something that I do.
Hank Baxter (heeler mix)
Jasper Pants (BC mix)
Zeke Finley (Aussie)
Beatrice 'Scout' McGrannahan. (BC)
Somehow this has always just sort of evolved playfully, with the exception of Zeke who bears the last name of his breeder, which fits him in so many ways that its almost a Life Time Network movie. The part of his breeders would be played by John Goodman, in drag, and Red Buttons, whether he's alive or not, his skeletal remains could be propped up to adequately fill the roll of Mr. Finley.
(I love both these people, by the way, the Finley's. They are good farm people with huge hearts of gold, as they say, or gold plate, anyway. They are also, however, Real Characters. They are not Beloved by all. Mrs. F is very domineering and easy to piss off, hold a grudge, etc. She's a Chronic Mom. She wears a snow suit year round and loves to give advice and hates to have it not taken. Mr. F is a sweet old guy whose dogs love him, adore him, but won't listen to him. Not a word. The dogs' think he's an adorable accessory, like something that came with their collars. Dog and handler are Thank You'd out of every trial I've ever seen them in, usually within the first 3 minutes. Mr F. is always loudly proclaiming that the dog is a shitheel and will summarily be shot upon getting home. Wag wag wag, the dog jumps on him exitedly all the way out. I truly believe Mr. F's dogs' think that its all in a day's work. Another fine job. Get in, grab hold, get out. Man drives dog home in dog's truck. Napping ensues.)
And Scout. She bears the name McGrannahan after a big lummox on some ridiculous country home video show, Steve McGrannahan, the worlds strongest red neck. His talent is lifting white trash yard clutter, such as old washing machines or riding lawn mowers made from jetskis and old motorcycle parts, in his teeth. Or tooth. It cracks my son up. So, one day shortly after we got her, Carlos pronounced that McGrannahan was to be Scout's last name.
Eric did not accept this. He was immediately indignant,
"THAT is NOT her last name," he said, "No way. That doesn't even make sense."
Yes. Because the others do make sense. Pants and Baxter??? Still, I'm a reasonable wife,
"It's okay, it's just her maiden name," I assured him.
"What?? NO!" He especially does not like for me to imply that marriage is anything more than between a man or woman and another man or woman or any combination thereof, to include thumbs and some sort of crude tool familiarity. Hey, not me. I'm way more open minded. Thumbs and toolsets optional! Marry everything off. I want my meat to be grass-fed and free-range and legal under the eyes of Gawd….Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, indeed!
But I digress…
We argued about this fictional name for days. A name being assigned arbitrarily to an animal who will NEVER USE OR BE AWARE OF IT'S EXISTANCE. We had heated debates. Plural. McGrannahan wasn't connected to us in any meaningful way that Eric could grasp. Or, It wasn't quite random enough. Eric is just too logical.
He mistrusts abstracts. He is not comfortable with anything that crosses the line between the natural world and the fictional, unless it includes a starship.
You'd think by my spouses reaction that I'd offered to re-write Darwin's Theory to include surnames.
Scout is a year old today. She's an odd and complicated dog. She's small and skinny and her strength is definately in her teeth. It's a good name.
“I want my meat to be grass-fed and free-range and legal under the eyes of Gawd….Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, indeed!”
That line is an absolute winner. Blog of the week!