So, you’ve decided to get a dog. Maybe you’re adopting a puppy and get to meet him or her before they’re even ready to leave their mama. On the day you’re set to meet your puppy for the first time, you and your family are over-the-moon excited. You crouch down on the floor to be on the pup’s level, and as he or she climbs clumsily into your lap, stretches to lick your face and nibble your chin, two things happen: you fall in love, and you realize you’re going to have to come up with a name.
What’s in a name really? Well, for starters, you will be using it for the rest of your pup’s life, most likely 10+ years, so you might want to take some time with the decision. Try it on. Roll it off the tongue, take it for a test drive, because it either clicks or it doesn’t. Go with your gut. It would also be good if calling it out wouldn’t cause embarrassment or confusion. Case in point: I met a guy who named his dog Phil or Phelps—I can’t quite remember. But the problem was that one time, when he repeatedly called for him out the back door, his neighbors thought he was calling for help and alerted 911. True story. Boy, was he surprised to see his driveway filled with emergency vehicles, lights blaring. Not the best day. And I have my own cautionary tale on the subject. When I was a teenager, I had two cats. One I had named Little Black when I was 5, and the other my dad named Sambo after a client: the food chain of the same name. Try standing on the front porch shaking a cat kibble box and calling “Little Black… Sambo… ” and not sounding racist. It didn’t occur to me until I had done that exact thing several times, inviting some not-so-favorable looks. Here’s a thought: If you let your children pick its name, all bets are off. You could be calling out bodily functions to retrieve your pup, or names like Little Black or Princess Sassy Pants or Barfy. Or they could be named after favorite foods and you could find yourself at the dog park calling out Chicken Nugget or Pop Tart or Gogurt. Our daughter wanted to name our Labrador Pudge-Pudge. We overruled her. Perhaps some supervision is in order. After all, who will still be hanging out with the oddly-named dog when your kids go off to college? You, my friend. That would be you.
“I believe it was Gwyneth Paltrow who named her kid Apple and her dog Kevin.”
So, with what not to do locked down, how should you go about picking your dog’s name? Some years back, there was a trend with the rich and famous to name their children something odd and their dog something mainstream. I believe it was Gwyneth Paltrow who named her kid Apple and her dog Kevin. That’s one way to go. We had a chocolate Labrador named Toby, short for Toblerone (the Swiss chocolate bar), which we thought to be spot on. When our mama dog, a black Labrador named Mollie, had a litter of 10 pups, we gave them temporary names to keep them straight. The biggest puppy—a packed sausage of a dog—we called Big Kahuna, but his adopted owner named him Otis, as in Otis Redding. The lone chocolate out of the bunch became Leroy, as in Leroy Brown from the Jim Croce song. We called one Olive and another Sophie, and they both kept those names when adopted. Our daughter, who wanted to name one of those puppies Pudge Pudge, settled on a compromise: Mimi. Our current dog, a shelter pup, came with a name: Winter Holly, which we soundly rejected. We renamed her Daisy because she just looks like one. It’s a happy coincidence that her antics over the years have warranted that we often call her crazy: Crazy Daisy, which has a nice ring to it and fits her to a ‘T.’
I’ve heard that dog names that end in “y” or a long “e” sound are easier for dogs to respond to, but I’m not sold on it. We’ve had dogs named Jasper, Marcus, Merlin, Mollie, Toby, Mimi, and Daisy, and they all responded appropriately, until later in life. It seems that regardless of what you name your dog, late in life they tend to develop selective hearing. It’s quite human-like. Suddenly, your faithful pup becomes a cantankerous senior who acts like you’re calling some other dog when it suits them. It’s akin to a great-grandpa turning off a hearing aid when they want to tune out. I’ve never been an 80-year-old, so I can’t knock it. Maybe it’s their God-given right.
Personally, I find it odd to be introduced to a dog, only to learn their name is Stephanie or Bob or Victoria. It’s just way too human and serious. I want to play around with a cutesy nickname version of their name. Our Marcus was Markey-dog and Merlin was Merle. Although, to be fair, we had cutesy and silly nicknames for our children too: Ryan was Rye-face, Meghan was Meggie-pop, Allison was Allie-oop, Robin was Bobbins, and Natalie was Nattle-tat. We still fall into it, grown as they are. We can’t seem to help ourselves. Maybe it’s generational. My brother called me Corky Jinkerskis and I called him Tony Baloney. Still do. I think I’m making my original point. A name is important (including nicknames inherent to it) because you are stuck with it for life.
There are no concrete rules to naming your dog. Just picture yourself owning it and its name in public. If Zanzibar Tootsie McFee rolls off the tongue and seems to fit your Pomeranian, you do you. If Sir Bartholomew McFudgie fits your Corgi, have at it. Just know there will come a time when you have to own your decision publicly and absorb the reactions of others. If you’re okay with that, more power to you. I mean, what’s in a name, right?
