"THE CHLOE CHRONICLES" PART III: "What's In a Name?"

Why and how my new rescue dog's name changed a few times...

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Hello Beloveds -

Here is the third installment of The Chloe Chronicles from the late, great Bark Magazine. (I still haven’t found the first installment, but have dug up some interesting unpublished Chloe material while searching for it. And isn’t it often the case that we find certain lost things only when looking for other lost things?). Anyway, this piece is about choosing new names for our newly adopted rescue dogs. One of my favorite tasks at the animal shelter where I currently volunteer is to name the newcomers to the shelter--especially the stray dogs, who all seem to need a new name to mark this next (and hopefully glorious) chapters of their lives. I went through a period of giving all the new incoming dogs auspicious Hindu names (ie: I named the American bull dog mix with cow-patterned fur “Nandi,” after Shiva’s sacred mount); such names seemed to delight some potential adopters (ie those who spend the winters in India) and confuse others (ie: those who don’t.) Then I went through another period where I gave all the new incoming dogs Harry Potter-themed names-- i.e. Hagrid, Crookshanks (for a grouchy Pomeranian with an underbite), and Professor Flitwick (for a scruffy Chinese crested mix) and Diddykins (for a goofy brindle pit). That was a big hit--and I swear the Potter-named animals got adopted more quickly than the Buddies and Maxes and Princesses. But who knows? All I can say is: naming stray dogs and helping them to find a new home is a very fun task.

PS - I love to hear the background stories about how your dogs got their names, so please share.

PPS - And don’t get me started on dog nicknames....that’s another essay altogether.

PPPS - I still haven’t had a chance to do any promotion for the launch of this newsletter, so I really appreciate those of you who have started to spread the word. I appreciate the support so much :) <3

This 3rd installment of the CHLOE CHRONICLES series—“What’s in a Name?” originally appeared in Bark magazine, Volume 67, Nov/Dec 2011, Copyright © Lee Harrington . Illustrations copyright Bark and the credited artists. The photo of Chloe is by the wonderful dog photographer #amandajones with lettering by Jennifer Steffey.

Now, onto the Chloe Chronicles.

Here is the picture of “Buffy” the French spaniel rescue group sent me. I fell in love with her face, her sweetness, and that waggy tail, and I adopted her without meeting her first. All because of this picture.

The CHLOE CHRONICES: Part III:

“What’s in a Name?” • By Lee Harrington

When I adopted my dog Chloe sight unseen from a shelter in Michigan via Petfinder.com, she came with the name of Buffy. And she certainly looked like a Buffy in her profile photos — sweet and soft and eager to play. A dog who would buffer your emotions, and remind you to stay soft and gentle and happy yourself. But somehow I could not see myself — a then-edgy New Yorker — calling out the name “Buffy” in Riverside Park. I mean, it’s a cute name, but for some reason I wanted to avoid being interpreted as “cute.” I’m too darn serious, thank you very much. And I’ve never seen that Vampire Slayer show — I don’t even own a television set. So the name Buffy would be misleading on many levels.

What was most important to me, however, was that Buffy’s new name be a reflection of her — her looks, her personality, her distinctions. I wanted a name that would summarize all that was unique about her dogness. Thus, I decided I would not give her a new name until I met her face to face.

I wrote about meeting Buffy/Chloe in my previous installment of “The Chloe Chronicles” (“Home, Again,” Sept/Oct 2011). In short, she was a 55-pound Spaniel mix, mostly white with brown markings, with a big bushy tail and a classic Spaniel face. The white stripe down the center of her head and snout was perfectly straight and proportional, as if hand-drawn by da Vinci himself. And personality-wise, she was totally a Buffy. Sweet and soft and friendly — just as her pictures had suggested. She was also quite anxious at the beginning, so I knew I wouldn’t see the real her right away.

I remember when I first brought the dog to our local, marvelous two-acre dog run in Fort Tryon Park, the first thing everyone asked me was, of course, her name. They all thought it rather comical that I hadn’t chosen one yet. So I explained that her name had been Buffy but that I was going to change it once I got a sense of what her name should be.

“Plus,” I said. “I’m not even sure Buffy was the name given by her first owner. ‘Buffy’ could have been the name the French Spaniel rescue group gave her when they pulled her from the shelter.”

In many spiritual traditions and creation myths, each human being has what is called a True Name. It’s the name of our soul, really, our Original Self, the part of us that lives on and on through many lifetimes. For those who don’t believe in the idea of reincarnation, our True Name is the name St. Peter has in his register at the Pearly Gates. In any case, it is said to be a very powerful experience to be called by your True Name, because the name brings forth everything that is, well, true in yourself: goodness, compassion, generosity, loving kindness … that sort of thing.

All of this is to say: I wanted to give my new dog a name that would call forth her Original Self. The dog she had been before she was abused and neglected and abandoned. But try explaining that in a New York City dog run.

“Well, what are you going to call her in the meantime?” one of my new dog-park friends, Chantay, asked. She was a tall, gorgeous, Black woman with an historic brownstone townhouse in Morningside Heights and an excellent sense of humor. Her dog — a Weimaraner mix — was named Boo. “It’s easy,” she said. “One syllable, no mistakes.”

She said that some day, she wanted to have three dogs so that she could name them One, Two and Three.

“I’m not sure what to call her,” I said.

We stood and watched the erstwhile Buffy enjoy the dog run: happily romping, nipping and rolling in the dirt with her new dog friends. There was a Ridgeback mix named Lexie (who was queen of the run); a French Bulldog named Myrtle; and a tiny, timid Terrier mix named Bird.

“How did you come up with that one?” I asked Birdie’s human companion, Jenn, who was associate director of a prominent animal shelter in Queens. “I don’t know,” she said. “She just looks like a Birdie. Small and cute and sweet. Buffy does look like a Buffy, you know.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I guess I shouldn’t rule it out entirely.”