well

This was my first entry, back in May of 2005.  Since I brought up Hey You, I figured it was worth repeating.

 

Oh, I just knew Scalzi came up with this topic with me in mind.  Actually, I know he didn't, but when I took my dog to the vet for the first time, eyebrows rose.

And what is your pets name, Ms. Broadaway?

Hey You.

Excuse me?

Hey You.  His name is Hey You.

Oh! I thought you were referring to me.  You named your dog Hey You?  If you don't mind my saying so, Ms. Broadaway, that's pretty apathetic.  She looked at me with disdain, then her eyes slid sympathetically over to You, who promptly looked pitiful.  He's a sucker for attention.

First, let me assure you that he was not named out of apathy.  See, I usually let my animals tell me their names via personalities.  When I brought You home, he was a cute little fluffy ball of fur.  My son wanted to call him (shudder) Bocephus, but he definitely was not a Bo.  Nor a Cephus.  And he wasn't a Fluffy or a Spot or Dexter...every day, I came home expecting him to look at me and say - My name is ________, but he never did, and every day when I came home, he was so pleased to see me, his little furry face just lit up, and I would lean down, scratch him behind his ears and say in soft tones....Hey, you...and it stuck.  That's who he thought he was, and it worked for me!

My son doesn't like for me to name the animals because he thinks the ones I choose are too human.  For instance, one cat was Lawrence.  It was something about his eyes...he reminded me of a photograph of my cousin, Lawrence - and so of course the cat was doomed to life as my cousin's namesake.

And once, I had a cat named Khadaffi.  I have no idea if that's spelled correctly or not, but yes, the cat was named for a terrorist because he WAS one.  The little bugger had a bad habit of attacking my guests ankles.  If he saw me heading for my usual spot at the end of the sofa, he raced me there (and usually won), and dared me to sit down.  I suspect that if I had demanded he move, he would have had a nasty little surprise waiting for me later, somewhere - perhaps on my side of the bed, or in my shoes.  He was just that way, and I'm not exaggerating.  Once, he even sprayed me.  Before that, he probably had no idea that terrorist cats could fly.

I have animals with normal names.  There's Spike, who is so named because of his gangster-like tendencies.  There's Teddy, who is a queenly long-haired tabby with gold - not green - eyes.  And last, but not least, there is  Dixie Darlin, a lab who is named for Winn Dixie's storebrand bread.  She loves the stuff.

Oh, and I once had a poodle named One Hundred.

Go figure.