We have officially named the new pup. His name is Bear. It’s kinda symbolic in a way. My grandparents had a dog while I was growing up that my dad and his brother called Bear. It was the same kind of dog except for the blue heeler part. I sometimes wondered why they didn’t call him by his name. His real name, now that I think about it as a grown up, was a tad racist. He was a boy….he was black. So his name was Blackboy. My parents had a dog when I was a small child that was white except for his face…that being black. So his name was Blackface. I’m telling you, I came from a simple place that named their animals like they saw them. When Blackboy died, my grandfather got a new dog and his name was Yella…because he was yellow.
The names haven’t really changed that much. Especially in simplicity. The four dogs that are at home are called Fred and Barney (two jack russells) and Hondo and Cujo (some kinda mix), the larger two. Naming animals was pretty fun. My grandfather used to raise Jersey cows as well. Throughout their cattle raising, there has been a cow named after each grandchild…except Logan. They were already gone by the time he came along. When it was time for him to stop raising the cows because we were worried about his age and being alone in the woods, he sold them to the grandfather of a good friend in Alabama. Sarah was the only one left of the children. Poor Help (the leader) was so old when he was sold. He couldn’t have been sold to the butcher because the meat would have been too tough to eat. He wore his bell around so the others would know where to go and who to follow.
But anyway, enough about cows and back to the topic at hand. The roommate snapped some pictures Bear last night when he got him to calm down for a few minutes and look at the camera. He’s a cutie!