We have a house guest this week. Well, she is my poor little puppy from the previous marriage that I so desperately hate to talk about. Anywho... Winnie is a precious little Maltese. Beautiful white coat, sweet sad-looking little face with black eyes and a black nose. My kids have really enjoyed her being here. Madalyn, of course, has assisted me in taking care of her while visiting.
My parents inherited Winnie after Scott and I married. She had grown accustomed to living at my parent's house with their other dogs, and she literally freaked out (in doggie terms, of course) when I moved her into the one bedroom apartment in which we lived. She became destructive when we left her, so bad one time that she chewed off a section of our bathroom door. Our neighbor told us that she barked the entire time we were gone one afternoon. It reached the point that I would drive her to my mom's house in the morning and let her stay there for the day while I went to work. If we were planning on going anywhere during the weekend, I would have to take her to my mom's to stay. Before long, she just stayed there. It bothered me to leave her. She was my dog, and I felt guilty just leaving someone else to take care of her. But I think she was happier being there.
So fast forward almost nine years, and I am now baby sitting my own dog that I deserted. If that makes any sense at all. And she still loves me, I think. Though I know she loves my parents so much more now than she ever loved me.
So I call her Winnie Poopers, for some reason. Her name is Winnie, but I just add the Poopers. Don't know why. Probably the same reason I call Millie, our cat, Mills Bills. Who knows why anyone calls their pet silly crazy names?!? But David asked me the other day, "So, is Poopers Winnie's last name?"
"No, David. Dogs don't have last names."
"Oh. Well why do you call her Winnie Poopers?"
"I don't know."
"Well I just figured it was her last name. And that May was Sophie's last name, because you and Gammie call her Sophie May." (Sophie is my parent's other dog - a Weimaraner who is 80 pounds and therefore ineligible to stay in the Blair house.)
It was one of those questions that you never see coming and that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. It is no moral debate. No social meaning. Doesn't really require an answer. But I found myself searching for the reason I call the dog Winnie Poopers. Why in the world a grown woman would look at a little white dog and speak to her as though she was a baby and actually utter the two words that do not belong together in any sentence ever - Winnie Poopers.
I was speechless.