Because I Am Not Racist.

“Gob” was sort of one of those names that fell in our lap. We first said it as a joke and then realised that it was just the right name. It just…fit.

One of the other names I’d thought of, fleetingly was “LLUA”. We’d pronounce it ‘lew-uh’. I mentally rejected it because it sounds feminine and I didn’t want to have to explain to everyone what a Little Lebowski Urban Achiever was, nor why I gave that name, thoughtlessly, to a black dog. it was just a bit too skeevy. And of course I rejected “Dude” and “Bowski” immediately. Both of those names are way over-used. Besides, they conjure up pictures of pot-addled doofi who long ago smoked away the more creative parts of their brains and now are followed through life by a bedraggled terrier who sometimes gets to drink beer out of his water dish.

One of the greatest things about Gob is his housebrokenness. When you adopt a dog who is young, cute, smart AND already knows ‘outside’….my friend, life has handed you a gimme. No two ways about it. The Kimber’s Kritters woman told me that he wasn’t housebroken but that they say that about all their adoption dogs so that nobody brings it back in frustration when there’s the first accident. So we had no idea he was potty trained until we got home to go through the first steps of the routine and got this “yeah, yeah, I know the drill” look. It was AWESOME.

But I did know this day would come. It’s inevitable with a new dog; a boy dog who has just been neutered. He did, when freaked out by the storm, pee on the rug.

Which makes me think that just for today I want to call him Chinaman. So badly.