Ask anybody what “Fido” means to them, and they’ll say without a moment’s hesitation, “That’s a dog’s name.”
I would probably say the same thing — even though never in my long dog-acquainted life have I ever met a pooch named Fido. Or Rover or Spot for that matter, which are probably the second-and-third-most-common names of no known canine on the planet.
Just one more example of how life is nothing like we imagine or pretend it to be — like that Italian pesto sauce that I always think will taste so yummy until I order it and rediscover that pesto always tastes like something Fido chewed up and horked on my pasta.
I know a lot of dogs. That’s because my wife and I take a roll ‘n stroll through the neighborhood almost every day — she in her wheelchair and I pushing — and whenever we see somebody out walking their dog, she insists that we stop for a scratch behind the ears and a sloppy lick. (She does the scratching. She leaves the licking to the dog.) She even makes me cross the street if we have to, or speed up or slow down to get the job done.
By now the neighborhood dogs know us as well as we know them —Sophie and Suzie and Callie and Cocoa and all the rest — even though we often don’t know the name of the lady or man at the other end of the leash with the plastic bag on their hand.
But none of those dogs — not one — is named Fido. Or Rover. Or Spot.
We have known people who had bunnies named Bugs, and parrots named Polly, and mice named Mickey. Lots and lots of them.
But never, ever, nowhere we have ever lived or traveled, have we met a dog named Fido. Or Rover. Or even Spot.
Never.
Ever.
Nowhere.
Between my wife and me, that accounts for well over a hundred years, and surely a million miles or more. There is no telling how many dogs in how many states — or even countries — we have been licked by.
But never by a Fido or a Rover or a Spot.
Look, if you have ever owned a dog named Fido, Rover or Spot, or if you have ever met a Fido, Rover or Spot, I would love to hear about it. I’m betting that my email will stay pretty silent, even though this is a popular column that might be seen by as many as 35 or 40 readers. Maybe a dozen of you have read as far as this paragraph, and between you that accounts for a lot of dogs over the years and miles.
And yet, I’d be willing to bet that none of you have ever met a dog named Fido.
Or Rover.
Or Spot.
I grew up in a family with plenty of dogs with names like Mike, Mickey, Schatze, Boo, and even a Tabby. (I know that Tabby is supposed to be a cat’s name, but there used to be a singer/actor named Tab Hunter who was famous at the time. Mom loved him, so she insisted that we call the dog Tab the Hunter. He was a mutt who could neither hunt nor sing, but he was a good dog, so it all worked out in the end, despite the misnomer.)
But we never had a Fido. Or Rover. Or Spot.
After my brother, sister, and I grew up and had our own families, we all had dogs, too. There were Augie, Rocky, Cap, Dandy, and even a Boo Too. (Or maybe it was Boo Two, since Dad’s dog was named Boo. The dog never told us which spelling he preferred.)
But nobody in our families ever had a Fido. Or Rover. Or Spot.
Our kids, grandkids, nieces, and nephews all have dogs, too.
And there is not a Fido, Rover, or Spot among them.
My wife and I don’t have a dog now, unless you include Sophie, Suzie, Callie, Cocoa, and all the others we meet on our daily roll ‘n stroll. They’re sort of like grandchildren to us — always eager for a hug, but then we can go our merry way and leave somebody else to clean up their messes.
But if we ever break down and get a dog again, I think I’d like to name him Fido.
Oh, I know, when people ask what my dog’s name is and I tell them, “His name is Fido,” they would stare at me and shake their heads.
“Seriously?” they would ask. “You named your dog Fido? Don’t you have any imagination at all?”
After all, naming a dog Fido would be like saying that generic is better than brand-name. A guy who would name his dog Fido would probably name his kid Offspring, right? He would probably legally change his own name to Current Occupant, just to get mail.
But if you gave your dog the quintessential doggy name of Fido — a name that nobody on the planet has ever met on a dog in their long life and many travels — wouldn’t that make you the most imaginative person on Earth?
Then again, maybe I should just call my dog Pesto. That way, whenever he disappointed me and failed to live up to my expectations, I could say, “Well, that seems about right.”
