I have a dog and a cat.
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If you looked at my social media posts (which you can’t because I don’t know you), you’d be aware of this, though you might not be as aware of my children, my husband, my job or any of the other things that should feature on my feed.
It’s really all about the fur babies.
(And trees. I like trees.)
The dog is called Teddy (because he looks like one) but I’ve always felt it was a lost chance to name him Deefer (D for…).
The cat, on the other hand, is called Winter simply as an excuse to take a photo of her walking towards me, subsequently posted on Instagram with the words: “Winter is coming.”
That’s a Game of Thrones reference if you’ve been living under a rock.
The cat we had before her was called Florence. That was because I wanted to post a picture of her on the coffee machine and caption it, “Florence + the machine.”
They’re a band, by the way.
I have plans to one day have two more dogs called Goodness and Mercy.
And that’s because “Goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23). That’s assuming they’re nice, obedient dogs who follow me around.
I am also relishing the idea of shrieking out in the backyard: “Goodness!” or “Mercy!” like a lady from the American south.
I’m not the only one with a pun penchant when it comes to names.
While most pet owners are happy with Max or Fluffy, Virginia Woof and Chairman Meow could be living quietly in a neighbourhood near you.
But I drew the line at puns for my children’s names. (Other people’s children are fair game, though. I suggested to my unspecified relative, one Mrs King, that she call her son Ray, and set him up for a future as a landscape gardener, but to no avail.)
But some parents have no such scruples.
While most of them are too rude to include here, there is verifiably a woman in the UK called Polly Cotton, who rejoices in the middle name of Esther.
At least the animals don’t know when they’re being made into jokes.