Names
Naming my dog was not going to be a trivial endeavor; at least not for me. My brother, on the other hand, allowed his young children to choose the name for their yellow-colored puppy. They chose – wait for it – Lellow. Talk about getting bullied at the dog park. They might as well have named him Melvin.
When it comes to names, we all have histories. We like certain names because we associate them with people we like and admire. We also dislike certain names for the complimentary reason. I think this applies to dogs as well as people. Most of the dog names I had heard in my past didn’t really strike me one way or the other, but I was dead set against Dakota. Look, I wasn’t buying an Australian Shepherd and planning to equip it with a red bandana. My prejudices were real. At my core, I’m a research guy. I conduct educational research as a profession, and I taught research methods to doctoral students for over twenty years. And, like a good bulldog, when I sink my teeth into a subject, I don’t let go. Back to the bookstore.
In the 1970s, the Monks of New Skete wrote How to Be Your Dog’s Best Friend. Despite controversy over their suggested discipline methods, the book sold well and garnered respect in many corners of the dog world. The Monks had more recently released, The Art of Raising a Puppy, which provided a ton of information about a dog’s early life. These books were great resources. Of course, there were books that provided alphabetized lists of puppy names, but the Monks approach to naming a puppy was principled. They suggested “guidelines” for choosing a dog name and I agreed with their rationale.
Dog names should be two syllables, end in a vowel or soft consonant, and should not rhyme with commands. A good example would be Lellow. Or, Melvin.
The other thing they mentioned, and I think this is important, was to anticipate that your puppy will eventually grow up and need a grown-ass dog name. I added the grown-ass part. I think the Monks would approve.
Now I should distinguish between a call name and a registered name. The call name is what the Monks were referring to. This is the name you use with your dog every day. A registered name is created if you intend to register your dog with a breed or kennel club. That name can be very long, include the name of the kennel that bred the puppy, then stuff that looks like a horse name. The Toy Poodle I grew up with was named Marie Antoinette de La Cañada. A French dog from the town in Southern California where I grew up. We called her Tony. I’m not sure that she was ever registered, so the long name seems like something my mom told me to give the 10-pound dog gravitas. I was only 5 when we got her. She was a light chocolate color, and for all I know, I might have been lobbying for the name Bwown.
At this point I had no frontrunners. When the right name presented itself, I would somehow know it instantly. Finding pools of contenders, however, would be the challenge. I must admit that the books with the alphabetized lists of puppy names were pretty handy. They had lots of silly names I would never consider, but they also had some reasonable suggestions. I searched among characters from mythology, and characters from my favorite books. Over the period of a month or so, I cobbled together a list of over a hundred names. Unfortunately, that piece of paper was lost long ago. I truly wish I still had it. I do remember narrowing the field to about seven names. While visiting my oldest brother in Seattle earlier in the year, I came across the first candidate. On a ferry ride in the Puget Sound, we met a Newfoundland named Ajax. He was pitch black, gigantic, and gorgeous. The name fit him and I liked it. Other names among the seven were Atlas, Gandalf, and Bruin. I don’t recall the other three.
This was the 1990s and television was still a thing. In those days, cable stations struggled to fill up 24-hour programming schedules, National Geographic tried to impress people, and music channels actually played music videos. We had not yet reached the enlightened age of Honey Boo Boo.
At that time, ESPN started televising the World’s Strongest Man Competition. Unusual entertainment, but I really liked it. The competition, broadcast over many days, pitted really large men against each other in Olympic-like events requiring freakish strength. The competition that year was in the Bahamas and competitors came from all over the world. The World’s Strongest Man Competition started in the 1970s with American athletes dominating the early years. The 1980s brought Jon Pall Sigmarsson from Iceland. The Viking. He won the title four times. Tragically, he suffered an untimely death in 1993 when his heart ruptured while lifting weights. Of course, Iceland is where the 2018 champion and four-time runner-up Hafthor Bjornsson comes from. The Mountain. You know, the guy from Game of Thrones.
I started watching the competition before I left to meet up with family for Christmas. The broadcast showed a wrist-wrestling match between Swedish actor Magnus Samuelsson and Australian wrestler Nathan Jones. The Mega Man. Magnus Samuelsson, a future champion, was a respectable 6’7” and weighed a power packed 330 pounds, but he looked downright small next to the Mega Man, who weighed as much but stood 6’11”. Where do you find a wrist-wresting table for Swedish people that tall? IKEA, ba dum– tsss.
The competitors leaned into the table and grasped hands. Not moments after the match started, I heard a loud POP – then an agonized yell. The Mega Man fell to the ground clutching his arm. Magnus Samuelsson, clearly shaken by what he had done, walked over to the Mega Man, crouched down next to him, and said gently in a heavily accented English, “I’m sorry I broke you.”
“Magnus” became the frontrunner.
I made my way to Seattle for Christmas and found out that my oldest brother liked the World’s Strongest Man Competition as well. Great, I could watch events at his house. I shared with my brother my thoughts about naming the puppy after Magnus Samuelsson. He liked the name, but suggested that I should name him after a different competitor, the reigning champion; Iceland’s Magnus Ver Magnusson. I continued to watch the competition over the next few days and finally got to see the other Magnus compete. The event that sticks out in my mind is the Atlas Stones. Competitors must lift 5 increasingly heavy large round boulders onto different sized pedestals before a short clock runs out. The first and lightest stone weighs 100 kilograms. The last and heaviest stone weighs 160 kilograms and the pedestals top out at 1.5 meters. The fastest time wins, or more likely, the guy that can actually do it wins.
I watched each competitor take their turn, and every one of them could lift the first few stones into place. Some got three or four stones into place before they quit or the clock ran out. Completing this event seemed impossible until Magnus Ver Magnusson took his turn. It wasn’t fair. Of course, he showed strain as he lifted the last stone into place, but damn, that looked easy. It was the same for all the other events he took part in. Just astonishing. Magnus Ver Magnusson won the title again that year and two more before he retired. His, was a name my puppy could proudly grow into. A grown-ass dog name.
I decided. The puppy’s registered name would be Magnus Ver Magnusson, and I would call him Magnus.