What’s in a name?

     I started out as Fluffy.  When I was born, my first owner called me Fluffy.  i was born in a puppy mill.  They put an ad in the paper and I waited.  The people who put me in the box with the other puppies kept telling me, “You’re a good dog, Fluffy,” and when I had accidents in the box, they’d clean the box with wet paper towels.  I’m with all my brothers and sisters though.  

One day, a young boy named, Paul, came to the pet store and petted me and my brothers and sisters.  Paul seemed like a nice boy, so I licked him.  Then, though, something weird happened.  The boy picked me up and took me to his mommy and his mommy took me to something called a cash register.  Then, his mommy gave me to Paul and I went to Mommy and Paul’s home.  

Then, the oddness started.  Paul let me in his and his mom’s home and let me roam free, well mostly.  When they leave the house, I’m put in something called a cage, which I hate.  It’s a dark place where I can’t escape, even if I dig.  Then, though, I start hearing it:  “Mikey, come here, Mikey.”  I look around.  Who’s Mikey?  Where’s Mikey and why isn’t he coming?  Then I hear it again, “Come on, Mikey.  Come here” and he’s looking at me.  But I’m not Mikey, I’m Fluffy.  I sigh.  

But, after a while, I think of it like a nickname.  Maybe Mikey’s my nickname.  You know, the way married couples have a nickname for each other like Sweetums, I guess Mikey must be this family’s way of saying “I love you” to me, Fluffy.  But they never call me Fluffy, even when they’re angry at me and serious.  For some reason, it’s always Mikey.  

Then, though, Paul is walking me and we run into one of the people who used to have me in a box with my brothers and sisters.  Then, it happens:  The man says, “Fluffy,” and I wag my tail.  

    But Paul is confused.  I go up to the man who used to put me in a box and he puts his hand down and I lick it.  Paul then remembers where Paul knows this man from and they get along just fine until my the man says my name.  

“Why did you call, Mikey, Fluffy?”

“‘Cause that was his name at the kennel.  We all called him Fluffy”

“Shouldn’t the owners decide his name” asks Paul.

“Well, yeah, but imagine if I started called you Sam instead of Paul, you’d be confused, right?”

“Why don’t we each go to opposite ends of the sidewalk and we’ll let him loose and I’ll call for ‘Fluffy’ and you’ll call for ‘Mikey’ and we’ll see who he comes to?”

Crap.  Now what do I do?  Who am I, am I Fluffy or am I Mikey?  Crap.

So, they both go in opposite directions and start calling my different names.

I sit and I look at the guy who had me in a box and I look at Paul.  I don’t know what to do, so I decide to roll up in a ball and take a catnap.  Maybe when I wake up my name’ll be MikeyFluffy or FluffyMikey.  

Paul finally walks me home even though he doesn’t know what my name is.  Then, though, we watch some TV and we see a commercial   The commercial has  dogs in it.  Apparently somebody is doing commercials in this area.  So, Paul talks to Mommy and they decide to go in a week for the taping, even if it’s only for fun.

***

Then, it happens again.  The man in the folding chair says, “Ok, in this commercial, the dog’s name is Pop.  So, we need Mikey to respond to Pop.  So, they call me, Pop and I’m confused again.  Pop?  Who’s Pop?”  I thought I was MikeyFluffy or FluffyMikey.  So, I’m lost in my head and Paul and Mommy keep trying to get me to go to them calling me Pop.  They even try tempting me with treats.  I don’t get the part in the commercial.

They try calling me Pop at home, but after 2 days, they give up and call me Mikey again.  So, what’s my real name?  But then I think, I’m still Paul’s dog, so who cares?  What’s in a name anyway?  What’s in a name?  I’m just Paul’s dog and him and Mommy can call me whatever they want as long as they give me food, love, and shelter.  Who really cares?  Who cares?  So, I go to Paul and Mommy no matter what they call me and I get treats. Who cares?  Who really cares?