Thursday, March 18, 2010

A few days ago, my friend Nigle and I were sitting in my local pub having a few beers and catching up on the latest gossip and so.
The day before, the Ex-Partner-In-Crime had been talking to a woman who was looking for a home for one of her dogs as they'd started fighting (the two dogs, not the woman and the dog) and she wasn't able to stop them once they'd begun, and the EPIC had asked if I'd like to view the dog and maybe give it a new home at mine.
I'd been told that the dog was a female, neutered and chipped Staffordshire Bull Terrier crossed with a 'something', was called Diana, and that whoever gave her a home could not change her name.
Now personally, I don't like the name Diana for a dog, or rather 'bitch' as I prefer dogs to have more 'doggy' sort of names, like Mutley, or Chips, or Sheba. I'd feel ridiculous calling out 'Diana' at the top of my voice in the park if the thing refused to come back to me, as people might think I'd lost a child instead of a dog. If I decided to take the dog, I would have to change the name.
I asked Nigle what sort of a dog got called 'Diana', to which he replied,
"Maybe one that gets married to a King Charles Spaniel then gets run over by a car?"
Beer came out of my nose at that point, and it took me a good ten minutes to stop laughing.

BTW, I didn't take the dog, but not because of its name.