What's in a Name?

"Rover?" I suggest. "He is that -- looks like he walked a thousand miles before he got here."
 
My sister Dani shakes her head decisively. "Too stereotypical."
 
We've been having this conversation for over half an hour now, ever since I was stupid enough to let The One Who Must Be Named into the house. At this point, it's hard to tell what's under that bundle of muddy matted fur. But he has soulful brown eyes. Dani, who has never been much of a fan of dogs, instantly and inexplicably fell in love with him and fiercely rejected my suggestion that we take our uninvited visitor to the Humane Society shelter.
 
"Hobo?" I ask hopefully. "That's more uncommon."
 
"That's the name of a TV show. We need to have something more creative than that."
 
"Perk?"
 
"Single syllable are hard for dogs to recognize."
 
"Tango?"
 
"Too military."
 
"Adonis?" Dani is a fan of classical literature, and Adonis was one of Venus' many lovers.
 
Dani wrinkles her nose. "He's not that sexy."
 
I sigh. "Okay -- what do you suggest?"
 
"Let’s sleep on it."
 
We spend the next two hours trying to bathe and groom our new family member. Dani calls him Sweetie and I call him Dummy.  He calls himself Innocent Victim Facing Inhumane Slaughter, squirming and yelping and howling. When we finally give up our efforts, we both need to change our clothes.
 
Dani goes to bed with a cup of soothing chamomile tea with lavender while I take the mostly clean monster for a bedtime walk. He is not particularly co-operative. I am torn between worry that he will escape my improvised collar, and an unholy urge to buy him a hot dog and set him free to pursue his personal odyssey.
 
Our first night together is tumultuous. Despite my best efforts to be firm, the Nameless One will not let me have a moment's peace until I agree to share my bed with him. Despite our efforts to clean him up, he still reeks of last month’s garbage spiced with a lingering afterglow of eau de skunk.
 
In the morning. I phone in sick at work and google the nearest veterinary clinic. Miraculously, they have a cancellation at two-thirty. After two more exasperating walks and a futile argument over what constitutes an appropriate canine diet, I bundle the Nameless One into the back seat of my car. During our drive, he decides to scramble into the front seat and lick my face. I narrowly miss hitting a moving van.
 
Dani, who has booked off work early, is anxiously awaiting our return. She ignores me completely and starts fussing over Noname. "Sweetie, how are you? Was that nasty vet mean to you? Do you prefer your steak rare or well-done? You're going to be so happy -- I found the perfect name for you!"
 
"Her name is Angelina," I announce.
 
Dani looks up at me for the first time. "What? She's a girl?"
 
"A bitch," I correct. "A pregnant bitch."
 
"Wow!" Dani exclaims. "Instant family! But no way can we call her Angelina."
 
"Call her what you wish, but her name is Angelina. She's microchipped. Her owners have been notified and will pick her up as soon as they can. They should be here by five, or six at the latest."
 
Dani's face wrinkles and her eyes fill with tears. I brace myself for a protracted outpouring of her heartbreak. Dani does not cope well when her wishes are thwarted.
 
Inspiration strikes her, and her face lights up with a brilliant smile. "Do you think they would let us have one of the pups? A boy pup? I hate to waste a perfect name."
 
I seriously consider looking for a new home for myself.