This handsome fellow is our dog. He’s about five years old, and we’ve had him for about a year. He was a shelter dog, so we don’t know his breed, if he had an original owner, or whether he had a name. (Do you know his breed? If so, leave me a comment.) Luckily, we know he’s not retarded.
In the shelter they named him Joshua, which was much too much like a person name, and lacking in hard consonants. Besides, we have kids. Nothing like letting the kids name the dog to help with the bonding and all that.
My younger son suggested “Pitch, because he’s pitch black.” (This was before his fur came in with a tinge of brown.) A pretty good suggestion, especially from a six year old, but after mulling it over, we decided that if we were ever mad at our dog at the park, yelling “Come here, Pitch!” sounded a little too close to a certain word-that-rhymes-with-pitch-but-starts-with-B. And all things being equal, I don’t enjoy looking like a pimp.
We settled on Cailloux (French for stone, or pebble), and not far from Caillou, the name of a children’s TV show based on books by two French authors.
But that’s only the prologue to this story, because as I have learned, names change. My six year old started coming up to Cailloux, cupping dog’s chin in his hand, and saying, “Big boy!”
But it sounded more like Beeg boiyy!
A few weeks later, beeg boiyy had become mee-moy.
A while later, mee-moy became muy-muy (pronounced mooey-mooey).
I began to feel for the dog. True, he had come a long way, from homeless in Yakima to getting two squares a day, his own bed, and a family who dotes on him.
But how in the hell could he be expected to know his own name, if it had morphed in less than a year from Joshua to Cailloux to Beeg Boiyy to Mee-Moy to Muy-Muy?
(This is not counting the times I call him “Doggy,” or after the unfortunate incident after the skunk, when I called him “Stinkyboy.”) It all must be muy-muy confusing.
I guess he just rolls with it. I sure hope he does, because I noticed this week that his name just changed. Again.
Muy-Muy has now become Mug-Mug.
It’s a good thing I don’t order him a new name tag every time this happens.
First Person Irregular 
That thar is a mutt.
BTW- for deskunking: Use Baking Soda, Hydrogen Peroxide and Dawn (Dish soap). Make a paste out of it and smear it on. Let it set for a bit and then take a shower with the dog.
The last time our dog tangled with a skunk it happened about midnight on the day before a trip. Guess who got to deal with it…
Fun Fun!
That’s always the way it happens, Jeff. Cailloux found his skunk riiight before we were driving home from my in-laws — a 4 hr. trip. So we did an emergency dishwash soap bath, dried him, bundled him in the car … it still smelled. Bad.
When we stopped for gas, the station attendant’s nose wrinkled and he asked, “Did you hit a skunk?”
Pretty much, yeah.
That’s a good looking dog! I think he’s half border collie and half bear. You are so lucky not to have a retarded dog. It’s such a burden. I mean “challenge.” Ours wears a diaper and takes anti-anxiety meds.
He’s lovely. Definitely border collie; I reckon maybe something like black Alsatian for the other ancestor, or possibly one black lab grandparent. If he’s anywhere approaching Alsatian sized then I reckon that confirms it.
Did you know it’s possible to DNA test for it now? Probably not a good use of money, but fascinating…