A New Nickname

People have told me that a dog should have two names: the first, a meaningless nickname that you don't need the dog to respond to, and the second, an actual 'command name,' the word which precedes each command, so that the dog knows she's supposed to pay attention.

My last roommate did this. Her dog was technically named Jackson, but she called him Pickle most of the time. Oddly enough, Pickle turns out to be a rather fitting eponym for a blonde Chihuahua-Rat Terrier mix.

But I've never managed to make this concept work with Lola. She's mostly just Lola. After all, when I was choosing her name, I deliberately picked one that was fun to say. And although she has a few other nicknames -- Silly Little Girl, Scruffbucket, Ragamuffin, Princess Poo-Face the Second -- those tend to be the kind of nonsense words you say when you're doing tummy rubbles.

But yesterday, Lola managed to earn herself a new nickname. Internet, I present to you a play in three acts, entitled: "Lola: A Play About A Nickname."*

ACT ONE:

Lola awakens in an incredibly energetic mood. I decide to take her out to Walnut Creek before breakfast so she can burn off some steam. We drive up there and do the mile-long hike we enjoy, and meet up with an older gentleman named David and his two medium-sized dogs. Lola pretends that she is part of their pack, even though it's clear she doesn't have a chance of keeping up with them. We have a nice outdoorsey forty-five minutes. I think that I've tired her out a bit.

ACT TWO:

I get a phone call from my apartment complex. "Hi. Did you call in to report that your breaker blew, and all the power is out except for your kitchen?" "Why yes, yes I did!" "Well, our maintenance guy is over there now to try to fix it, but there's a problem with your dog. She won't let him in."

She won't let him in. A thirteen-pound Lhasa-Poo is keeping a grown man at bay. She is adorable and fluffy. She is the complete opposite of threatening. But apparently, in my absence, she takes her protector duties very seriously. My dog rocks.

I manage to swing by home before work so that the maintenance guy can flip the right breakers. "Yeah, she really didn't like me being here before," he says.

ACT THREE:

I now have to leave for work. I give Lola a Teenie Greenie to occupy her while I slip outside. Despite this distraction, she darts out the door the moment it opens more than an inch -- I swear, I did not think the door was open enough for her to fit through it -- and she then prances around and around my car. You could practically hear her singing "Chitty-chitty-bang-bang, we love you!"

Since I was (of course) already late for work at this point I put on my most commanding voice. "LOLA. LOLA COME. LOLA COME. I MEAN IT. LOLA COME. Goddammit--" as she prances behind the car again. "LOLA COME!!!"

Eventually she did actually obey me, whereupon I tossed her back into the apartment without ceremony, saying, "That's right, and you stay there, you -- you Snickerdoodle!"

I have no idea why I called her a Snickerdoodle. The best explanation I have is this:

- Cookies are my favorite sweet dessert-type food. Forget cake, pie, brownies, anything. Cookies are the best. I had one of those big cookies from the Great American Cookie Co as my birthday cake for at least four years that I can remember.
- Snickerdoodles are a crappy kind of cookie which I do not actually enjoy. They suck. It's because of the cinnamon. Cinnamon is a stupid spice and I have never met a Britisher who enjoyed it. Even my Scottish roommate refused cinnamon gum.
- So it's sort of like saying, "I really love you lots and lots, but right now you are being really annoying!"

Or, as Lola's Daddy pointed out, possibly it's just because it rhymes with poodle.

Anyway, Lola can now be referred to as the Snickerdoodle. But probably only when she's been a bit naughty.

*Ellie, you would be the only one to get this incredibly inane reference, except that the play happened my freshman year. It was a decent play. One of Phillip's weirder set creations.