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| Author: Bill Thomas |
We grew up with dogs. Four legged ones. There was always one coming or going. I was reflecting on that, and the different names they had and how that reflected upon the nature of the dog. The first one that I remember was named 'lady' and looking back that just doesn't seem to fit since every time you turned around she was getting out ho'ing and producing another litter. After about 3 or 4 litters, my parents finally decided to get her fixed and that put an end to her wanton ways.
Next there was 'Shep', who as you can imagine was a German Shepherd. His name was somewhat fitting but really didn't do justice to him. He was a very strong and smart dog that seemed almost human. Unfortunately, he was out running one day with my older brother and ran in front of a car. Although it didn't kill him, he was never the same. After a period of time, it was obvious that he wasn't getting any better, so my parents told us that he was going to go live on a 'farm'. Looking back, I wonder if that was really 'the big farm in the sky'. Since neither of my parents are around to ask, I'll just assume that he went and lived happily ever after chasing rabbits and things like that.
The last one on the scene was 'Boots' The name seemed to fit him perfectly because he really was a mutt. But, he was a great dog, and a lot of fun. He would play fight with the cats, and make like he was a horse and do all kinds of neat things. He was notorious for snatching food. One time comes to mind when my older brother had made himself up a 'Dagwood', and when Tom did it, he did it up right. Well, he comes walking upstairs saying "did you see my sandwich, I can't find it, and I know I'm not crazy, I just made it". Well, he looked around for it for about ten minutes. Finally, he walked out back, and we could hear "Boots, you ....." Boots had snatched his sandwich and ran out back and had him a feast. The evidence was on the corner of Boots mouth. Tom didn't kill him that day, although I'm sure the thought crossed his mind. In fact, we had Boots longer than any dog I can remember. He lived until about 17, and fittingly while out running suffered what we believe was a stroke and died soon afterwards. Boots was buried with 'honors'.
Although we don't know it at the time, it's funny how a dog seems to take on the character of his dog name. Whether it's an instinctive thing we have when we first see the dog or just happen-chance, most dogs seem to grow into their name. Wonder what I would be called if I were a dog? Killer? Nah, Duke?, let's hope not. Probably just 'Bill' and that's ok. In fact, there's been a woman or two in my day that has said, "Bill, you're a dog". Hmmm |
Author Bio:
Bill Thomas lives and works in Seattle, Wa. He is actively engaged in E-Commerce and Internet Marketing. His current websites are--Create Lifetime Residual Income and Financial Freedom on $10 a Month |
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