HanktheDog Blog

I guess they don't call them "pet names" for nothing. They're the rain of monikers that comes pouring down on the heads of many an innocent hound. Sure, sure. There's the "main name," but then there are all the others, as one writer confessed in a recent article about her dog Yofie. I think I know how poor little "Yofadoodle" feels. For me, it's seldom just Hank. It's Hank the Tank, Handsome Hank, or Hankadoor.

And that's just the beginning. For every little foible, there's another pet name. Gained a little weight lately? I'm suddenly the family Flabrador. Take a little longer to get through my walk (hey, it's Florida; it's frigging hot down here!) and I'm the Lagador or the Laxador or Pokador. Get a drink from a poorly flushed toilet (and whose fault is that, anyway?) and I'm Rank Hank. Walking a little stiffly? Hankenstein. Feeling just a bit blue? HounddogHank.

Enough already. I've got news for all you pet-namers. We dogs play the same game. How often I've looked at Molly eating a banana and thought, Homo Apien. Or, watching Mike and Molly entranced for hour after dull hour in front the TV like dang vegetables, I've thought, Human Beans. Then there's Water-Bowl Pooper (no need for explanation). And Smelless Wonder (jeez, how can you not smell that?). And Night Kicker (since their legs are basically blunt bludgeons that they blindly stumble around on all night -- get some night vision, will you?). There's also Stumpy Tongue and Dull Tooth and Compost Breath and Mr. No Tail, not to mention Can't Lift Your Leg When You Pee. The list goes on. Of course, we dogs love our Hard-of-Hearing Hairless Monkeys and mean no offense. They're just terms of endearment. And, after all, they can't really understand us anyway, right?