I had a name. Sometimes it was on my collar, sometimes embedded in a microchip, but more often than not, any reference to my identity has been removed; not to protect the innocent, but to shield the cowardly guilty.
But the fact remains that I did have a name, and an identity, and a place in a social hierarchy before being unceremoniously dumped to fend for myself in a world that I couldn’t imagine even existed.
And if I still remembered my old name and was able to verbalize it to identify myself to others, I would not, as doing so would only serve to honor the memory of them who gave me that name.
As a dog, I have no room in my heart for regret and resentment, as it is filled with love and devotion for those willing to give me my new name. As alien as they may seem to me at first, the vowels and consonants that make up my new name aren’t what makes my heart quicken, but the message conveyed in the very tone and spirit in which they’re delivered that tells me that I am home, and my roaming days are done.
I am now Charlie Bravo, Stevie Mae, Bull Taco, Max E. Million, Claire Bear, Skinny Minnie, Micro Polo, Ajax, even Titus Pullo. I am now a million other names of canines that have burrowed their way into hearts and under the covers.
But most importantly, I am now home.
We be of one blood, ye and I.