On the drive home, we discussed what his name is. Because he already has a name, we knew; we just had to discover what it is. So we bandied around different options. Buddy. Sebastian. (Julia prefers fancy names; we do not.) Scotty. I forget whether Adam or I first said the name Ned.
We all liked it fine. Julia volunteered, "I like Ned. It was the name of a dog in Brian Jacques's Flying Dutchman book, a dog that could talk!" She added, "His name was Denmark, but they took the first three letters, turned them around, and came up with Ned."
Denmark. Ned Denmark. It didn't sound right.
|There's clearly some Great Dane in this boy,|
so Denmark seemed like a logical choice.
"And that's where you get Teddy too, right?"
"So ... Theodore Denmark."
Adam laughed. "But," he said, "Theodore What Denmark?"
"Theodore Roosevelt Denmark!" I exclaimed.
Julia groaned in pain in the back seat.
Then Adam said, "Theodore Roosevelt Denmark, the Moose!" (Because that president formed the Bull Moose Party. Random historical facts stick to his brain like noodles to a wall.)
And Adam and I looked at each other with surprise and glee and realized we'd just (finally) found the dog's name! His perfect name! Moose!
We'll still call him Ned, mostly because Julia will insist. She hates Moose for his name, but Moose it is and Moose it will be.
Right now Moose is taking a nap with Adam, who is a very happy man, in the office in the barn. At last he has a friend to do his farm work with and life can return to normal. Beau, I'm sorry to admit, is a miserable failure as a lone farm dog.
|Two dogs is good, Three dogs would be better.|
|Moose discovers he's not allowed in the greenhouse.|