Just recently, the Boston Parks and Recreation Department’s Animal Care and Control Division (tell me you can’t make that name into its very own movie) came out with its Top 25 most popular dog names in the area. Looking at this list, I’m happy to say I know of no dogs, anywhere in my realm, with any of these names.
Once, about 20 years ago, we had a “Daisy” in our neighborhood (No. 6). She was a good dog. And even though she wasn’t ours, she was very protective of us. Perhaps it was because we wouldn’t say anything when she came across the street to use our overhang to grab a little shade in the summer.
Anyway, one Sunday morning we heard all kinds of commotion in our backyard. There was a dog barking so loudly and so fiercely that we thought something horrible must be up. But it was just some guy who was retrieving a softball that he’d hit from the park behind our house.
Daisy was pitching a fit, I guess, because she thought the guy had bad intentions. And even though she looked (and was) as gentle as you could ever imagine, she meant business here. Luckily, Daisy knew us well enough so that when we called her off, she stopped barking and menacing the poor guy.
This just reinforced something I learned a long time ago: dogs aren’t dumb. If you gain their loyalty and trust, you’ll be in their good graces forever. Similarly, if they can find any reason not to like you, they’ll let you know that, too.
At any rate, here are the Top 25 dog names, according to the organization whose name has more words than “Moby-Dick”: Luna, Bella, Charlie, Lucy, Lola, Daisy, Bailey, Cooper, Max, Penny, Oliver, Teddy, Maggie, Stella, Ollie, Molly, Lilly, Scout, Rocky, Milo, Buddy, Riley, Finn, Coco and Winston.
A couple of casual observations here. First, at different points in this litany, the words come together like an Irish song my mother used to sing, “Dear Old Donegal.” Meet Lucy and Lola and Daisy and Bailey and Ollie and Molly and Lilly …” Methinks the person who compiled that list arranged them that way on purpose.
Second, I used to work with a Bella, so that seems a little weird; and third, my boss’s name is Ted. That also seems a little weird.
Were I to see anyone with any of those dogs, my first and only question would be, “You saddled that poor dog with a name like Ollie?”
We had three dogs growing up: Sheba (as in queen of), Chloe (after a song my mother liked) and Ebony (so named because she was the second of the two black Labs we had). Because of the ballet “Daphnis and Chloe,” when my sister, Jayne, got a yellow Lab, she named the dog “Daphne.” Too bad Chloe was gone by then. They would have made a great pair.
Some pick their dogs’ names carefully. Others are more generic. Our friends Larry and Karen had a little Corgi named “Duke.” He was so small that he could get under foot real easily, and everybody in that house took turns tripping over him.
“Dukie” was a sweet-tempered dog when he was young, but he used to go crazy when the kids ran around too much. After all, Corgis are herding dogs and they’re hard-wired to chase things.
“Dukie,” who crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year, was also one of my endearing and enduring buddies. And if you petted him a certain way, and then stopped, he’d stick his snout right back into your hand and force you to continue.
On the other hand, my friend, Cal, had this big German shepherd named “Apache,” who looked like the subway rumbling into the station at Park Street Under. I mean this dog was huge. He made the beast in “The Sandlot” look like a puppy.
But I learned all I needed to know about “Apache” when I went over there one day and the dog ran up to me. I thought I was going to die. Then he sat down and whimpered until I petted him. Big dog. Big baby. A lot of big dogs are like that. Little dogs … something else.
Our neighbors have this great big Collie named “Madra,” which is simply the Gaelic word for “dog.” Pretty creative. He’s another one of my buddies. They have the poor guy fenced in, and all he wants to do is get out. He sees me and whimpers, as if I’m going to let him out of there. No chance.
I have other buddies. There’s “Dublin,” a yellow Lab who belongs to a former colleague; and “Archie,” the other neighbor’s dog who is as small as “Madra” is big, but jumps incessantly (little dog-itis).
But as you can see, none of my neighbors and friends must have consulted that Boston animal group’s list of names. But that’s OK. None of them are named “Spot,” and I think their names are better anyway.
