Monikers

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

Ok, I’m no Juliet—I’m not even a girl! And I surely am not a Shakespeare aficionado, nor is my mom, but at least her Sophomore English Teacher got through at one level, so she says. Me? I like to listen. Reading’s not my strong suit. Mom tells stories and I just love to listen. Like me, she talks a lot. Some will say (my dad for one) that’s where I learned it. But it’s really not true. When mom picked me up from my first home I was chatty and, well, I have never stopped.

But alas, I digress. Sorry. Srsly. (That’s an inside joke that I’ll explain at another time). Today’s topic is NAMES. Why, you ask? Well, mom, heavily influenced by dad, loves to come up with names for us. What do I mean? Ok, for instance, my given name was “L’il Bear”. Um, for those who have met me, that’s not an accurate description of me. So first thing mom and dad did was to change my name to Pooh Bear. Ok, I’m cool. “Winnie the” was a super guy and well I have no problem having his moniker. And, funny, I sorta look like him. But it didn’t end there. Oh no, we now have MORE names for me. Like, Pooh Bear Dog. Or, Poohsie. Poohsie, you ask?

I have a human niece, who, several years ago, was studying Greek mythology. Mom was playing along (she does that a lot) and came up with Poohsis. The Greek God of fuzz. If you ever saw me in my full winter regalia, you’d understand. So I became Poohsis for awhile and, of course, it was shortened to Poohsie. When I get shorn like a sheep every spring, I become Fuzzles. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a Bear? You get the picture. So then it became Poohzles. (I told ya mom was weird).

But my names are pretty benign if you compare me to my brother Ditto or my sister Sophie. Wanna hear those names? You’ll feel sorry for them by the end of this posting. Well, let’s start with Ditto. He got his name because his face is an almost exact duplicate to the cat Patches. Plus he was my mom and dad’s second Aussie, so he became “Ditto”. Sadly, it didn’t end there. As a pup and young adult Ditto used to prance. A lot. Back to mom’s bizarre imagination, he became Sir Prancelot. He was called Precious Pup (mom and dad’s first “pup” since the beloved Beasley and well, dad likes cartoons) and as a pup, he went potty A LOT. Dad called him Ditto Cadiddlehopper—have no idea where THAT came from—and it evolved (or is it devolved?) to Cadiddlehopper Cuss, which further morphed to Cussy Buster. Don’t ask, I’m running out of space! So in the end, his full name became “Sir Prancelot Peepin’ Poopin’ Precious Pup Ditto Cadiddlehopper Dog”, otherwise known as Cussy Buster”. Our other human niece, when she was a young pup, thought that to be hysterical. Say it again, Auntie! Us? We just sighed and went back to sleep.

Dakota used to be Dakota Opie Wigwag Dog. Wigger Wagger. Koter man. Rig Rag.

And poor Sophie. Well, I’ll just say it and know that it’s born out of all of her antics. Her names are: Princess Peanut Pantaloons Pogo Poutie Pusser Prairie Pup. Otherwise known as Sophie-ona Peanut. Itsy Bitsy Pogo Sticksie. (Have you picked up on the fact that mom was terribly influenced by that sophomore English teacher???)

So, what’s in a name? You figure it out. Terms of endearment for sure. And probably a mom who has not been channeled in the right direction. But the best part is that she talks to us and calls us those names and the sound of her voice is the sweetest sound in the world. In the end we really don’t mind at all. Call me anything you want just don’t call me late to dinner—hey, another topic for another blog!

How about you? Do you have special names? Please share, I’d love some company to my “misery”. *HOWL*.

And, thanks for reading everybody. Hope you were “bearmused” today!