I believe one should be prudent about the selection of a new dog’s name. I’m not prepared to say that the chosen moniker predicts a dog’s lot in life, but one can never be too careful. I question the wisdom of choosing names like Taz (short for Tasmanian Devil), Twister, Crash, Turbo or Quake. At the other end of the spectrum, there is the person that named her dog Tater, which is short for Couch Potato. I can’t help but notice how all of these dogs seem to live up to their names.
Perhaps, a stringent naming protocol should be followed. I propose that a scientific study be done on this dog-naming matter. Today, studies are made on everything from the dating habits of South American cockroaches to the environmental impact and feasibility of faxing Jell-O. I pronounce that we examine the effects a name has on a dog’s behavior and what the chosen name says about the person doing the naming.
Human nature, I suppose, dictates that dogs are commonly named after sports figures, music idols or fictional characters from movies, books and TV shows. Some dogs are even named after food and drink or our favorite places on the map. It seems that dogs are seldom named for office supplies, retail stores or despot world leaders.
At the risk of exposing my more than slightly distorted character, I will reveal to you the introspective process of naming my own dogs.
Mr. MoJo is named from the Beatles’ song lyrics “He’s one mojo filter.” I have no idea what that means and furthermore, I have no explanation for why I chose it. MoJo is also named for the song “LA Woman.” A line in this song, includes an anagram of Jim Morrison: Mr. Mojo Risin. Every morning, Mr. MoJo hops onto my bed and gently paws back the covers to wake me. Then, as I open my eyes I sing, “It’s Mr. MoJo Risin” when I probably sound amazingly like the original recording by The Doors.
How I came up with the handle for my dog, Bob Barker is self-evident. He barks a lot. When I decided on the name, I hoped that the real Bob Barker, an animal advocate and spokesman for pet birth control, might be dubiously honored. And, yes, Bob Barker, the dog, is neutered!
In keeping with the tradition of naming my dogs for Beatles’ songs, it was easy to decide on the name “Jude” for my German Shepherd Dog. Jude, while his heritage remains largely indefinite, is evidently from a bloodline of overly dramatic German Shepherds. He whines. He whines a lot. Therefore, the name Jude was assigned because, as the song says, we always have to “take a sad song and make it better.”
Since I’ve never adhered to any naming conventions for my dogs, I suppose I shouldn’t deliver any caveats until I’m ready to practice what I preach. I don’t imagine any forthcoming canine apocalypse because we’ve chosen names describing our dog’s unattractive qualities. It still begs the question: “Does the dog live up to the name or does the name live up to the dog?”
Dog Training
A question I often pose to new training clients asks, “Why did you choose this particular breed?” Answers are as diverse as the people queried. They usually offer logic such as, “We always had Dachshunds when I was a kid.” “I’ve been around German Shepherds all my life and I know them well.” or “I’ve researched Chihuahuas for many months and have decided it is the perfect breed for me and my lifestyle.”
Personally and against all reason, I would answer the chosen breed question with, “I like big, fluffy, exceedingly goofy dogs.” However, with every year that passes, every birthday I celebrate, I recognize that I’m one year closer to having a little sweater dog. I envision myself in my twilight years with an attitude of entitlement and my little dog named “Cargo” (or maybe Tadpole) because I carry him everywhere, rendering his tiny legs to be superfluous appendages.
I’m thinking ahead here. While I currently prefer to live with big, fluffy, exceedingly goofy dogs, I have to be realistic in considering my future capabilities and lifestyle. It’s only fair to the dog, to my neighbors and me.
This week signifies another trip around the sun for this old girl. They say that any birthday ending with a 0 or a 5 is a major one. This one ends in a 5. Actually, it also starts with a 5, so I might consider it a milestone if I believed in age as anything but a number. Nevertheless, as the years race by, totally out of my control, I wish for only one thing. I wish that my dogs would help out around the house more. I’ve recently concluded that I must either train my dogs to do yard work and automotive maintenance or move into assisted living.
Eight years ago I adopted a 4-month-old Border Collie mix from the local shelter. Being a dog trainer, I thought, would qualify me for the challenges of living with a Border Collie. I was painfully wrong.
Mr. MoJo showed me a new respect for the Border Collie breed. I was humbled by his unbridled abandon in deconstructing upholstered furniture. In his younger days, MoJo could reverse engineer a sofa in under 7 minutes. Perhaps in a former life he was an interior designer or a demolition expert. While other artists labor in oil or clay, his true medium is stuffing…he’s a canine modern master! In addition to de-upholstering furniture, MoJo had a penchant for window treatments. One evening, he effortlessly plucked the living room drapes from their rods and shredded them into minuscule lacey bits.
Moreover, I lay the blame for MoJo’s wake of destruction squarely on myself. I was working three jobs and somewhat unprepared for life with a rambunctious pup of the herding persuasion. My having barely enough time to devote to MoJo’s proper rearing, we both paid a price. Ironically, he has redeemed himself as the established voice of reason in our household. I, on the other hand, continue to seek redemption in the matter.
I suppose all “parents” lament and wish for do-overs on certain parenting decisions. I wouldn’t expect to raise children without the occasional Crayola mural or a dent in the car. Neither do I expect to raise a puppy without the intermittent accidental puddle or chewed shoe…within reason, of course.
Think carefully about your lifestyle, breed personality traits and how many couches you’re willing to replace before choosing your new dog. It’s easy to let emotion override logic in this dangerous decision-making territory. For instance, a woman once told me that she wanted a Jack Russell Terrier. She wanted one because on her daily commute, she drove by the dog food plant. Every day she saw the ad painted on the building depicting a cute JRT puppy with his nose buried in the dog food bag. Anyone who has spent any time with hyper-drive Jack Russell Terriers need not be told why this is so amusing. The rest of you don’t know Jacks!
Dog Training