What’s in a Name?

Golden retriever puppy sitting next to sapling on a walk in the woods.
October 29, 2024

On Friday September 13, a golden retriever pup came to us when she was eight weeks old. Arriving at the name that we hoped would fit her perfectly was no easy task. Names are important and I wanted to get it right.

For some of us our names hold a story or two. One place in my life where names got talked about a lot has been in my classroom. Perhaps this is because a great number of the adult students with whom I work worked came from other parts of the world. I’ve heard their stories about how their names influenced their lives here in Canada, especially when it came to securing employment or finding a place to live. The topic of names evolved purposefully because I worked hard to garner familiarity and a growing sense of community. I did this because I believed that when people come to know one another, the atmosphere shifts. As relationships build, sharing increases and people are more likely to take a risk to try on some new learning. 

“Take a few minutes to tell us about your name…” I’d say. “How did you come by your name?”

From these simple questions we heard that some people were named after a father, mother, grandparent or a favourite aunt. One woman was named after her dad’s ex-girlfriend. I heard about names with regional connotations and others influenced by a trending celebrity, a favourite historian, or one of the disciples who hung out with Jesus.

To set the stage, I shared my own name story. At some point during my adolescence, I told my parents I didn’t like my name. From that conversation I learned my father picked my name because it had a “ring to it.” He wanted my name to sound musical. (My full name is Beverley Ann Brewer, can your hear the ring?) My dad enjoyed music. He loved to sing at gatherings and he taught himself to play the guitar. He insisted I take classical guitar lessons and under my mother’s influence, my sisters got to study dance. However by the time I’d moved into residence, my parents had acquired a piano, which meant both of my sisters took piano lessons. (Whether they wanted to or not.)

 On the bent of musicality, my dad went even further with my middle sister’s name. It’s interesting to me that until I shared these details, Mel hadn’t been told her name story. The story went like this: On the day of her birth, my dad returned from the Office of Register with a document. When my mother saw the spelling of Mary Melody as Merry Melody, she evidently ordered him to return the downtown office. My father’s spelling of my sister’s name was influenced by the Merry Melodies production company’s logo prevalent on television screens in the mid-1960’s. The happy-go-lucky tune so successful at capturing the viewer’s attention, likely influenced his choice. Fortunately for my sister, my mom had a keen eye for detail.

 A seven-year study conducted in one of Florida’s regional districts, demonstrated how a child’s name influenced a teacher’s response to the student, including their grade scores. For kids with names determined to be associated with low socioeconomic status, it wasn’t surprising for the study to indicate their lower performance levels. In my own school yard experience I’ve witnessed kids with “unusual” names being bullied by their peers. Some of my adult students shared similar memories. A name has the potential to shape an aspect of a person’s life path. Some people grow into their name. Other’s change their names. I wonder if this phenomenon plays out in dog training?

The liqueur nor the studies I glanced at had no impact on what we decided to call our pup. It was more about names lasting a lifetime and that’s why I needed to get it right. Jack and I brainstormed possibilities. We talked affectionally about dogs who are no longer with us and whose spirits are still residing in our hearts. As we went down memory lane the names of these dog’s names rolled off our tongues which suggested we’d chosen well.

 To check the validity of a dog’s name I suggest to call the name out loud. Yell it into the wind. Say is softly and try it with more force. Is it easy to articulate? If the enunciation is too cumbersome, we told ourselves to let it go. Since naming Bailey, I still trip over the syllables and to honest, when she’s having a naughty puppy moment, my mouth slips back to Winnie, who in spirit is still teaching me. I don’t think Bailey noticed, at least not yet because I’ve been pretty quick to catch myself.

 In the past we picked a name that easily morphed into a playful nickname. Winnie got, Win-win, or Winnie-pinny. Jack called her Winnifred or Whimsical, and also referred to her as “The Bird.” (Why? No idea.) I suspect, as she grows up and we get to know her, workable nicknames will unfold for our Bailey.

I resorted to a Google search and found several sites, including, Bad Ass Names for Dogs and Best 350+ Girl Names and more. The best the search did for us was to generate more conversation about a proper noun we would be comfortable with saying a lot. Plus, we decided it was important, for her sake and ours,  Bailey have a chance to grow into her own unique name.

All this to say, we resisted the urge to call our new pup Winnie, Bella, Jenny or Roxie. I considered the name Kylie, which was perfect for my father’s German Shepard because his gorgeous sharp features and stature commanded respect. I decided the hard “k” wasn’t a fit for our little blonde pup’s stubby nose and soft mouth. Her temperament needs calls a gentle and warm handle.

Now and finally, “Bailey” is her name and she’s beginning to look my way when I say it.

“Me?”

“Yes, Bailey, you…” 

 The colour of her coat resembles the hue of the smooth liqueur that goes so well with coffee, but as mentioned that’s not what influenced our choice. We named her after her dog mom because when Momma Dog Bailey sauntered toward us at the gate, I felt her trust. I intuited that Momma Dog Bailey knew we were there to take away another one of her offspring. With warm enthusiasm, she approved of us and this helped to sweep away my guilt about the separation. My respect for her was great and the reason to name our pup after her. It also didn’t hurt that I knew another dog named Bailey. She wasn’t a golden retriever but she was a much loved dog who returned the same to her humans.

Bailey is my first golden retriever and I’m learning how different she is from other dogs I’ve lived with. Unlike how Major, Zachary and Winnie––all labs––devoured their food with gusto, she eats a little bit at a time. Her body is less muscular. It will be interesting to see how she is around the water. On the two occasions when she fell off the dock, she wasn’t the least bit phased. I wonder, will she attempt to rescue me each time I plunge into the water? (Major did.) Will she hurl off the dock to greet paddle boarders and kayakers? (That was Winnie’s trick and not all paddlers liked it.)

 She’s been with us for six weeks, and it feels like we’ve had her forever. Us three are a good fit. With her arrival, life in the cottage altered. Metal food and water bowls have been placed back onto the floor. Two dog crates have been retrieved from the garage. The smaller crate is beside our bed and larger one, with all her toys, stands in the living room. When she’s tired or has a special delight, she retreats into her homey den and its downtime for everyone. If I close the gate, she’s told me real quick she doesn’t like it.

“Okay Bailey,” I say, “You don’t like being trapped. I don’t like being trapped either,” and to myself I say, “This is something we can work on.”

Since, recognizing that when it comes to puppies I’m out of practice,  I’ve left a message with a dog trainer. We’re seeing her on Sunday.

In the meantime, Bailey gravitates to the room where Jack watches the news and his baseball, tennis and golf. The door to the room has a French window, so when she’s in there by herself with the door shut, she seems satisfied and settles on the dog bed. So far this works because she’s contained, we can see her and she appears not to feel trapped. However, if she decides to eat the leather couch, I’ll be writing another story. (Here’s hoping not.)

It didn’t take Bailey long to discover the kindling pile and gaze at the warm glow in the woodstove. It’s a pleasure to witness how within any minute of her day something else is new. Her curiosity amuses me. So does her mischievousness. Watching her coming to terms with all the movements, smells, scents and textures in her environment intrigues me. We smile a lot more and I suppose that’s because we’re in puppy love.

Our pup has a preference to be outdoors. There are no physical barriers around our property, but in the past we have used an invisible fence called Dog Watch. Even if we did have the invisible fence activated, us humans still have to be mindful of fishers and coyotes. This morning I picked up on a faint scent to skunk. No invisible fence will help with that. At this point Bailey is fearless and would know no better to get herself into trouble. So that’s why her humans need to be watchful to keep her safe. It’s our end of the bargain.

It has been so long since we’ve had a puppy. Our chocolate lab Major was Jack and my first dog and he taught us both a lot. That was a long time ago. At that time we were fortunate to have lots of dogs in the hood. I recall marvelling at the excellent manners of my friend Diane’s border collie. Diane passed along her name. In those sessions, Dina brought her two therapy dogs, both excellent role models. It was an experience worth repeating, one we’re launching into with a new trainer. We’ll see how we do.      

At twelve weeks old, Bailey is teething and to distract her from planting laser-sharp teeth into our flesh­­­­––mine more than Jack’s–– she’s been presented a smorgasbord of chew toys and whatever sticks she chooses to drag into the cottage. Nine at night seems to be her crazy time, or what some call the “witching hour.” I suspect this is when her growing teeth bother her the most. I’m seeking new ways to alleviate her discomfort while preserving my sanity. I’ve introduced her to ice cubes, a water-soaked tea towel from the freezer, the Kong stuffed with peanut butter and dog-safe RAWHIDE and a pastel-coloured stuffed unicorn. Thanks to my friend Diane, Bailey has also been introduced to BULLYSTICKES, which distract her for about fifteen minutes.

She’s likes the car and when she’s there, she behaves.  Bailey is getting closer to becoming a wonderful walking companion. She especially likes the different smells, textures and sounds of the woods. It’s been my privilege to be invited to traverse Mark’s trails with and Sue and their two dogs. Sue’s young lab is robust and Mark’s lovely nine-year-old female golden-doodle retriever is sure of herself. With luck, these canines will be longtime pals to Bailey, and role models too. We head out around 5 p.m. into the shadows of the autumn forest with its pine, fir, ash and fallen cones and needles crunching under our feet. At twists and turns and in some of the gullies, pungent scents permeate the air. When we traipse across a field of clover, dried up ferns, Sue’s dog lunges at sticks and Bailey plunges and bites into the plush moss.

A walk with new friends into the woods and across fields breathes vitality into my soul. During the walk, Bailey does her best to keep up and that means she gets good socialization with other people and two older dogs, plus the exercise that helps her burn puppy energy.

The saying, “A tired dog is a good dog,” may sound trite but right now it’s a gift.

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