Dog is my Co-Pilot

Well, 'Homer' is turning into a very special creature, indeed.  Everyday  he becomes more and more personable.  He's fun and funny and absolutely lives to make me happy.  He falls over himself to make me happy.   And he's got to be the most friendly dog I've ever seen, to both people and other dogs.  Everyone instantly loves him. 

The name's gotta go, though.  He's just not a 'Homer.'  I can hardly get it out of my mouth and have taken to using 'Homie' when I can.  But that's not right, either.  For awhile I considered 'Diogee,' a fine Italian name (not really:  DIOGEE:  D-O-G), but that's too stupid.  'Mr. Wiggles' has been tossed around but sounds silly without the 'Mr.' and pretentious with it.  I keep slipping up and calling him 'Pepper' after my beloved shepherd, but he's not Pepper.

I bought him a mardi gras collar in rainbow colors with beads on every pointed piece of cloth -- he looks like a circus dog in it.  When I put it on him I was struck by how strong the  feminine is in him.  I mean, even without the collar, he's very much like a sweet girl dog.  So on a walk through the 'hood, every time anyone came up to us -- which was often -- and asked his name, I told them 'Althea.' 

'Althea?' They'd answer, puzzled.

'Yes, it's his drag dog name:  Althea Tamarra.' 

He seemed to love it but we got vetoed by Bob.

Yesterday, at the beach, I settled on 'Rusty' or 'Rupert.'  Rusty is one of those good old normal dog names and playfully describes his personality.  He really does seem like a Rusty.  But Rupert is the only name that has gotten a rise out of him so far.  When I tried the name on him, he pricked up his ears and looked at me . . . twice.  I think it's the OOOO sound at the beginning of the word. 

But Rupert was also the name of one of my past dogs and Robert protests that it sounds too much like his own name.  So it looks like it's most likely going to be Rusty . . . but I'd love your feedback.

What do you think we should name this fine dog? Leave me a comment below.

In the meantime, Robert has once again demonstrated his . . . what should I call it?  . . . his 'pain-in-the-acidness.'  He's the one who spotted the dog at the pound and made me take a look.  He was the first to say he wanted him.  He made all kinds of promises about how we'd overcome the challenges of having a dog in a condo.  But now, he has nothing much good to say. 

He's rarely walked the dog . . . but, truly has been pretty fucked up with sciatic nerve problems, and uses that as his excuse.  When the baby got sick the other night -- really, sick -- and pooped on the carpet, he got all bothered and continues to insist that he can see the stain (you can't).  He's taken to complaining about the dog smell in his house (the dog has had two baths and has no smell other than Dove conditioning shampoo).  Negative, negative, negative.

It  think what he's really saying is that he's pissed that the dog is utterly bonded with me.  That's because I speak nicely to him, take time to get down on the floor and pet him and take him for LONG walks every day.  We share adventures and he adores me as a result.  Bob, on the other hand, hollers a lot, is constantly shooing the dog out of his kitchen and rarely takes him out . . . and then for short walks.  What does he expect?

I told him last night that if this was not going to work for him we should take the dog back to the pound.  I was bluffing, of course.  At this point, if he can't get with the program, I'll take the dog and we'll go set up housekeeping somewhere else.  But the statement seemed to strike a nerve.  We'll see how he does today.

Don't forget:  give me your name for him.