Meet Tator Tot. Yes, I said Tater Tot. Some days Jenny and will wake up and just sit on the couch, surfing the net, watching T.V., drinking coffee in our pajamas.
Today was one of those days. We looked at rings, houses and dogs. Why dogs? My question exactly!
Jenny saw a dog and informed me, “I want a cute little dog and I’m gonna name him Tater Tot. Or Polka Dot. But I like Tater Tot.”
I have a dog. He’s about 8 years old and is a mutt. He’s a rescue dog. His name is Riley. Simple, easy to remember and best of all I don’t feel like an idiot when I yell off the back porch for him.
That’s Riley. He’s a DOG. Not a toy or accessory. Not a food. A dog. A companion. He’s always happy to see me. He understands that he isn’t my equal. He is given free reign of the house but knows that I get to eat first, sit wherever I want and will put my needs ahead of his. In exchange for his loyalty and devotion he is fed well, loved on frequently and never neglected or mistreated. (ok. I’d never mistreat any animal. But he does get a special day where he gets to go to the groomers to get his nails trimmed and a special bath and at the end I let him walk through the store and pick out his own toy)
The idea of having a dog that is none of those things seems almost ridiculous to me. The dog she wants is a fashion statement. And probably something that would take over my side of the bed. And THAT is not acceptable.
I can see me, walking down the street after dark, bedazzled leash in hand, yelling, “TATER TOT” at the top of my lungs because he/she has gotten loose. I’d rather be “that crazy cat lady” than be known as “the crazy Tot lady”
Yes, I would do it. Why? Because I would want my Jenny to be happy. And if she lost her beloved Tator Tot to a pack of juvenile delinquents, she would be devastated.
I offered other names as an alternative. Frick? Maybe Frack? If it has to be a food, why not snickerdoodle? Or cashew? Maybe a tougher name for a petite little thing would help his ‘rep’ among other neighborhood pets. Bruno? Or Zeus?
When she stated “I’m not picky at all” while we were looking at rings, then boldly began shooting down each one I suggested, I should have known that a conversation about a beloved companion would end with me feeling like an oaf.
I hate to see which house I’ll be getting her.