Dog name story:
My brother (yes, Lee again) divorced and for a couple of years lived the life of a sort of hobo, keeping everything he owned in storage, and spending his nights couch-surfing among friends and family, while he searched for a little plot of land and eventually built himself a woodsy little cabin.
During that time, he picked up a dog that everyone else had given up on, she was rather bonkers (there were only two people she liked; Lee and me). He fixed up the bed of his truck (complete with camper shell) into a deluxe dog sanctuary, and that’s where the dog lived. When he was at work, the dog stayed in the back of the truck, and he’d tend to her during the day.
When I first met her (I wasn’t living around here then), I asked him her name, and he said, “Aw well…we’re both just a couple of hobos, so that’s what I’m callin’ her…Hobo.”
Ok, that’s fine, I suppose.
A couple of years went by, he built his house, moved in with Hobo, and shortly after that, met a woman who would eventually become his third wife.
The day I met her, I showed up at his house for a visit, walked through the front door, and the first thing I asked was, “Where’s my girl Hobo?” - she walked over (that dog rarely ran anywhere), plopped down, and I commenced giving her my signature dog ear massage, neck rub, and shoulder squeeze. She loved that.
I was talking to Hobo during all this, saying things like, “How’s ol’ Hobo feelin’ today? Good ol’ Hobo,” when his girlfriend popped out of the kitchen - keep in mind, I’ve never met this person before.
“Oh, we’re not calling her that name anymore,” and at this point she adopted an operatic sing-song voice not unlike Julia Child, “I’ve rechristened her
Fair Lady Hyacinth of the Queen’s Royal Wood!
“ - his property was wooded, and I suppose she saw herself as the queen of it.
I paused for about three seconds, looked at her, then back to the dog, and continued with, “You like havin’ your ears rubbed, dontcha Hobo? That’s right, Hobo!”