I think I’ve said it before, but shaking a fist at the Universe and proclaiming, “I will never…,” is usually the quickest way to get the Universe to sit up and take notice of you. Don’t ever do it. It pisses the Universe off. No matter what the Universe might be working on at that precise moment, it will stop to remind you just who’s in charge. Spoiler alert: IT’S NOT YOU!
Just a week or so ago, when slapped in the face by my rapid decent into crazy pet lady status, I shook my fist and shouted to the heavens, “I will not write about my animals again for a LOONG, LOONG time!”
I am duly chastised, Universe.
A while back a friend of mine asked if it upsets me when dogs we foster, and who we name, are re-named by their new families after being adopted. She suggested the topic would make a great post. I thought it was a great question, but I wasn’t sure there was a post in it. Recently, however, I was inspired while walking Rupert. Dog pee inspired me. Don’t judge. I’ll explain in due course.
The answer to the question, by the way, is no – and yes.
I’m human. I love my fosters. I don’t give them super stupid names that I hate. I give them awesomely amazing names that I can’t imagine anyone wanting to change. On the other hand, when you make the commitment to love, cherish, provide for, protect, honor, and, one day hold a dog in your arms as it breathes its last breath, you earn the right and deserve the honor of naming that animal. It’s pretty simple, really.
How does this apply to Rupert? Well, Ed wanted to call a dog – any dog – Rupert from the day we decided to try fostering. He tried to name or, in Buddy’s case, re-name, every dog that came through our door Rupert. Not particularly fond of the name, I resisted. So, when I plucked a scraggly, ugly little Chihuahua off the street a couple of months ago, I let Ed call him Rupert. The truth is I didn’t want to waste the name Norman, the next name on my list of awesomely cute dog names, on that particular dog. Sad and shallow, but true. It never crossed my mind THAT would be the dog we ended up keeping! [This is an example of Karma and the Universe working together to teach me a lesson. Note to self: The Universe knows when you’re being a sneaky, little bitch. It has Karma’s number on speed dial.]
I don’t want to turn Ed into some kind of saintly figure, mostly because I have to live with him after I post this, but he does have his moments. When we decided Ru was staying, Ed offered to let me change his name. Pretty amazing, huh? Ed FINALLY got to call a dog Rupert, a name he obviously loved, but he was willing let me change it because he knew I didn’t really like the name. Well, I’m shallow and sneaky and bitchy, BUT I play by the rules. When Ed agreed to keep Rupert, he made the commitment that gave him the right to name our dog. Rupert it was and Rupert is stayed.
And how does all this apply to pee? Well, Rupert is all of about 6 inches tall. It’s an unfortunate fact of anatomy that makes it nearly impossible for him to pee without getting it all over himself. He just can’t help it. So, when I was walking Rupert the other night it hit me. It doesn’t really matter what our dog’s name is because [wait for it]…
a Rupert by any other name would smell like pee.