My rotti dog calls me Tam. She always has, partly due to lack of imagination but mostly because I am reasonably confident she is the only one of our Beasts who has never actively plotted my demise (also likely due to lack of imagination). My cat seems to refer to me alternately as Two-Legger and Can Opener, depending on the level of disdain in which I am currently being held.
Our old yellow dog was Husband's pooch first and he has called me many things over the course of our time together. At first I was Cheese, then Pony Tail. I finally graduated to Tam when it became clear I was in for the long haul and he'd have to learn to tolerate me sooner or later.
Top dog honour, however, goes to the name given to me by an exceedingly senior German Shepherd we adopted for her final year in this universe. This dog worshiped the ground Husband walked on, followed his every word of command and slept at his feet. But I? I was looked on with contempt and tolerated only for my opposable thumbs. This dog hated everything about me and I am certain the reason she lived with us as long as she did was because she was determined to outlive me if she could. Phoenix never listened, never came when I called her, never backed down or looked away. She would only refer to me when she was hungry and only then as "Get Me A Cookie, Bitch."
No comments:
Post a Comment