Our dog is a foundling. He and his siblings were dumped in our country neighborhood when they were babies, and we took him in. It was a gamble, because Husband was away on a business trip, and we sort of fell in love and said yes to the dog without consulting the head of our household. I told the kids we couldn’t give him a name until Daddy returned home and said we could keep him.
Daddy (Bless Him!) caved to five sets of pleading eyes, and thus ensued the search for the perfect name. I wanted to name him Guy Noir a-la Garrision Keillor’s famous character on Prairie Home Companion, but my next door neighbor goes by ‘Guy’ and I didn’t want Lara to think I was always yelling at her hubby.
The kids compiled a list of their favorite names and then I performed the “name test”. I actually went out into the back yard and yelled the chosen name across the lower forty to be sure that a) it would carry all the way to the gully; b) I wouldn’t feel stupid yelling the name; and c) no other dogs or stray kids came running expecting a free meal.
We ended up with Max. Short for Maxwell Noir.