What Do Our Dogs’ Names Say About Us…and Them?
By Leslie Garrett
Who among us hasn’t known a Max or a Molly or a Maggie? Or perhaps a Ginger, a Jenny or a Jake? An Angus? Tiger? Daisy?
I’m talking, of course, about dogs. And their names, as the list of 2011 top dog name was recently released.
My husband and I put more thought into our first dog’s name than we did into our first child’s. (Then again, we had our first dog before we had our first child.) And we had more choice. In selecting a dog’s moniker we didn’t feel limited to “human” names.
We also didn’t worry quite the same about burdening our pets with pretentious names. We seriously considered Zeus or Thunder. We pondered Apollo and Brutus. In the end, we went with Gunther—it seemed the perfect name for a Bernese Mountain Dog. It had just the right blend of Swiss/German, the perfect balance between quirky and strong, and though there are human Gunthers in the world, we didn’t know any. Had never known any. And so we beamed each time someone congratulated us for giving Gunther “the perfect name.”
Since then, we’ve named five other dogs (Chloe, Kira, Suki, Polar, and Avalanche), three cats (Arnie, Romeo, and Bill), a rabbit (Wilbur) and a guinea pig (Dexter). And, since then, we’ve had to incorporate the opinions of three children (Sophie, Spencer, and Charlotte).
Those 13 names have also spawned innumerable nicknames—from Roly-Poly (Polar) to Wam-Wam (Romeo). I have no idea the onomastic gymnastics that take us from a fairly respectable name to something we’d be mortified to call our pets in public, but no matter. Dr. Stanley Coren, author of The Intelligence of Dogs and a psychologist who has spent a lifetime loving and learning from and about dogs, insists that dogs don’t mind these nutty nicknames at all. “They’re very attentive to which person uses which name,” he explains.
He does have some recommendations when selecting a name. A two-syllable name gives more room to convey emotion, he says. Your voice can rise or fall with the second syllable, making it clear that the should either race to your side with tail wagging, or start preparing his defense for the missing roast. He also suggests a distinctive lead sound, such as a D, B, or P.
And of course, he suggests with just a hint of faux sternness, use “proper dog grammar,” which means use the dog’s name first, then the command.
“The name,” he explains, “is a command of its own. It means ‘pay attention to me’.” Thus you’ve got the dog’s attention by the time you ask it to “sit” or “come.”
He also suggests you change the name if the dog is a rescue, noting there can be trauma associated with the name and a fresh start for everyone is a good idea. We changed the name of one of our rescues, not because of trauma to the dog, but embarrassment on the part of my husband who simply couldn’t imagine calling “Babe” at the park and not feeling like a dirty old man.
“Babe” became “Kira” and though I’m clearly guilty of violating my own objection, I dislike giving dogs human names. Sure there are those that straddle the human/canine world—Max and Molly, for example. But I prefer a dog name that’s clearly meant for a dog. Some names say “dog” though I’ve never known a soul with a Lassie, a Fido, or a Rover. And it was almost a rite of passage in the ‘70s to have a childhood dog named Blackie or Snoopy, Patches, or Spot. I had my beloved Buffy…and a cat named Smokey. Perhaps we lacked imagination but those names were almost as much a part of childhood as Buster Brown and Band-Aids.
In my dad’s day—smack between the first and second World Wars—dogs were Prince or Duke, Ace or Bandit. His childhood dog was Paderowski or “Paddy,” ostensibly named after a brave Russian general.
My children’s friends have Cooper, Bella, and Hayley. A friend with a dachshund named him Gordon, though he blames his wife for that. Gordon suits his name, though. And Gordon has a dachshund friend named Albert. They would likely be affable professors, if they were human.
Which brings up the chicken-egg question: Do dogs develop to suit their names? Or do we select names to suit the dogs?
It’s a question I put to our white giant, Polar. And to our crazy little Kira. And sweet Suki. I even poll the cats, affectionate Romeo and wild Bill. They look at me, the dogs wag their tails, and then, when they realize I haven’t called their names to come for dinner, they curl up and go to sleep.
