I mean, it's one thing to be called Blossom on the Wind, if you're really some sort of ethereal beauty, or maybe Stooping Falcon if you're an Olympic class athlete. But nobody wants to be called something lame like Three Legged Dog or Burps Like a Buffalo, do they? Come to think of it, if the option had been at all accepted when I had my two boys, I might have named one Bellowing Bull and the other Bonks His Head Constantly, names for which I would never have been forgiven.
Sons, if you're reading this... Thank your lucky stars...
The incident that stands out most to me as being a "naming moment" in the Dances with Wolves tradition, occurred a few years ago at my home in Parker, Colorado. It was one of those balmy summer evenings that encourages people to sit on the porch, listen to the dusk coyote chorus and eventually watch the stars glimmer into existence in a moonless velvet sky before finally going inside to finish dishes and do all those mundane tasks that we, by this day and age, ought to have domestic robots doing for us.
The boys were in bed and sleeping soundly. My (then) husband was watching something or other on TV in the loft and it was time for my collie, Jess, to have a last run around the back yard before bed time. I opened the sliding glass door for Jess and closed it behind her, but rather than her usual run-sniff-squat action, she stayed right at the door and barked loudly into the night. Now seeing as my Jess was a good, sensible dog, not in the habit of waking the neighbors at all hours, barking at dust motes or creating a havoc over a gust of wind, I went outside to see what the trouble was.
The darned back porch light had burned out again and stepping from the well lit house I couldn't see a thing except Jess, who was fixated on an invisible foe somewhere outside the pale glow from the window. The dog quieted as I held her collar and stared hard in the direction she was looking.
Two little eyes, low to the ground, stared back at me from the darkness. It couldn't be a cat because Jess would have just seen it off in short order. It must be a little dog. Goodness knows there were enough folks with coyote bait pets in the neighborhood. It must have escaped from a yard or a house nearby.
Definitely time for the silly voice, you know that one reserved for cute little animals and babies, the pitchy sing-song way of talking that would embarrass a kindergartener half to death if Mom ever used it in front of their friends.
"Well, Hi there, little doggy. What are you doing in my yard?"
The bright eyes blinked once as the small creature listened and watched me, about six or so feet from me and Jess, not retreating or advancing, just watching. My own eyesight was just beginning to grow accustomed to the blackness and I could just make out the shape as I continued my cutesy-voiced, one-sided conversation.
"What a cute little black doggy..." on I went. It's not that I had any illusions that the little dog would understand what I was saying. But small dogs out alone at night are easy prey for a variety of critters, and if I could get the animal to come closer I might have been able to catch it and find a tag on its collar.
But the little dog seemed content to just listen and watch out of arms reach as I gained my night-vision over the course of five minutes at least.
"Such a gooooood little doggy... " more detail was now visible, "...a nice little black doggy. And what are you wearing? You have a little white harness on? A cute little black doggie in a little white har..."
So, you know that feeling that comes with the sudden recognition of the truly horrific staring you in the face. You know you have to act but first you have to overcome the freezing, numbing shock that paralyses all motor skills for a heartbeat or three? I felt that. Then I acted, launching my dog bodily through the open doorway and diving in behind like I was carrying the pigskin half a yard from the touchdown. I slammed the door behind me and peered nervously out into the night, shading the window with my hand so I could see from safety.
The little critter seemed to give a visible shrug before turning away and waddling confidently out of the yard, not the least bit phased by my actions. It was then that I realized what my name would have been if Wind in his Hair or Kicking Bird had witnessed the exchange.
Talks To Skunks!
Oh well, it could be worse. It could have been "Smells like a Skunk". I guess I'm lucky the skunk found the conversation amusing.
