The dog I recently adopted has several names. I can't decide on just one. It doesn't seem right to limit his nomenclature because he has so many different sides to his personality.
For example, at 6 o'clock in the morning and he wants to be walked, he is known as It's-a-good-thing-you're-cute.
When he has to stop at every freakin' bush to urinate, he is known as Grand Master P. That's also his hip-hop name if he decides to go clubbin on a Saturday night.
The name on his registration papers (if he had registration papers) is Beijing's Royal Star of Destiny III Protector of the Mighty Palace.
And if he spills his food all over the place when he is eating, he is simply known as Dog.
When I come home and he is so excited that he races around the apartment, crashes into walls and his eyes bug out, then he is known as Crazy Maniac Mutt. The same name applies when I can't put on his leash because he is rolling around on the floor.
The other day when he was barking and lunging at a senior citizen who could barely walk even with the aid of her cane, his name suddenly became Little Shit at least temporarily.
But when he is lying on his back and wants to be snuggled and looks as cute as this ...