What Not to Name Your Dog

So, there I was tooling along headed to my favorite fishing spot when I saw the ubiquitous orange five gallon bucket beside the road. You know the ones from that big box store. Having driven off without a bait bucket, I decided to stop and pick it up. Luckily, there was little traffic that day with most people toiling away at their jobs it being a weekday and all. So, hitting the flashers, I backed up a bit and pulled over to park. After all, no sense in walking the 25 yards or so back to the bucket. I hit the trunk release as I got out intending to pick up the bucket and chunk it into the back of the car.

As I reached for the bucket, I heard a pathetic whining sound coming from said bucket. With a bit of unusual caution, I stood back up and approached the bucket and looked down into it. Damn. There in the bottom of the bucket was a very emaciated puppy. Being the sucker I am, I gently picked up the starving puppy and held it close to me as I gently petted the little thing trying to sooth its little heart. Using my free hand, I picked up the bucket and returned to my car, tossing the bucket into and then closing the trunk. I got back into the car and gently placed the little guy on the passenger's seat. Since the country / bait store was just a few miles ahead I headed on that way.

Arriving at the store, I picked up the little fella and headed inside and stepped up to the counter and gently set the little guy down. My friend Randi (beautiful, caramel color 110% married Randi) looked at the pup then at me. Rather than telling me to get this filthy dog off of her counter, she picked up the little pup and tucked him into the nook of her neck and cooed to him.

"Where on earth did you find this poor little thing, Dave?" she asked.

So, I related to her the story of the pup in the bucket and remarked how he looked as if he had not eaten is some time and asked what she thought I should give him. Fortunately, she was at as much of a loss as I was so I called my vet. Rob told me to bring him on in immediately and forget fishing for the day.

Rob has a mobile vet practice in a specially equipped RV type vehicle. Everything you would expect to find in a regular vet's brick and mortar building but it is on wheels and comes to you. Except on Wednesdays when he parks it at his doggy day care. So I headed to the doggy hotel to meet Rob. Got there and Rob's assistant took the little guy from me and gave him a quick rub with a treated cleaning cloth. (He was more than just a little dirty from being in the bucket out in the open.) Rob then picked the little guy up and gave him a quick going over.

"Dave, I gotta say, you found him just in the nick of time. Another day or two and it would have been too late" Rob told me. "As is, he is going to need some special care before you can feed him anything normal. I've got to plug in an IV or two to get him rehydrated then we've got to come up with a feeding plan. Leave him with me and I'll call you tomorrow. Any idea what you'll call him?"

"Well", I replied "Bucket sounds like a good name for the little fella."

Gonna find out that was not really that great of a name.

So, Rob called me the next day and told me he would be down my way the next day with his mobile practice to see another patient and could bring Bucket by my house around 10:00 if that would work for me.

So, let's fast forward six months or so. Bucket and I had been at the local dog park for about 45 minutes and was time to head on out. So, I called him just like you would call your dog.

"Come Bucket", I called out to him.

Next thing I know, this woman standing next to me hauls off and slaps me. Not just a gentle you're so cute tap, but a make my head spin around three or four time slap.

"Just who in the hell do you think you are calling me that", she demanded.

"What???" was all I could say while trying to put my face back where it belonged? "What the fuck?"

"Who are you to call me a cumbucket?" she demanded.

"Lady, I did not call you anything. I was calling my dog, Bucket because I need to go" said I.

"Bucket? Who in the hell names a dog Bucket?" she demanded.

My luck was going from bad to worse... Some guy about the size of a small box car came stomping up. "What the fuck you doing to my wife?" he demanded.

Before I could even think, let alone speak, his wonderful wife starts in on a diatribe of how I called her a cum bucket and then being a wimp claimed I was calling my dog, Bucket.

In a manner of great orators throughout history, hubby grabs my shirt and queries "Who the fuck names a dog Bucket? At least be man enough to admit you screwed up big time and insulted the wrong woman."

Being as manly sound as possible, considering that Boxcar was kinda choking me as he was holding me by my shirt collar with my toes just barely touching the ground, I squeaked out "I named him Bucket 'cause I found him beside the road in a bucket. Look at his collar."

With that, the boxcar let go of my shirt and reached for my pup. Picking him up, he looked at his collar which had Bucket's name and my phone number. As he scratched Bucket's ears he gently placed him back on the ground.

"I'm really sorry, sir" he said to me.

Turning to his wife, he said "Maybe if you weren't fucking everyone in your office and half of my friends you would not have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Oh, I'm suing you for divorce, Cum Bucket, here are the papers my lawyer drew up."

Well, maybe Bucket is not such a bad name for a dog after all.