We celebrated September 18th as Bobo’s Gotcha Day—the day he got me. But it took more than a week for me to make him mine.
I was fostering him, when Hilda from Hungary Hearts Dog Rescue mentioned a family from Manchester was coming to meet him. I asked for first refusal. “Give me the weekend,” I said, but soon realised I’d regret giving him up.
Since he wasn’t officially mine, I didn’t change his name from “Bobo,” though I wasn’t fond of it. For a while, he became “He-Who-Has-No-Name.” After ten days of deliberation, I finally signed the adoption papers. Ten years ago today, he officially became mine, and I made him A Promise.
And I had the right to give him a name of my choice.
So, what’s in a name? Names are a convention used to distinguish people or things, but on their own, they carry no inherent meaning. Yet, sometimes, a name just fits perfectly.
We considered giving him a Hungarian name to honor where he came from. However, aside from “Otto,” which we briefly liked, and a lighthearted suggestion of “Goulash,” nothing felt quite right. More importantly, we didn’t want his name to be a reminder of his difficult past. We decided to leave that chapter behind and focus on a fresh start.
A Scottish name was also in the running, since he came into our lives on September 18th—the day of the Scottish Independence vote. “Hamish” was considered, but in the end, we thought it best to give him an English name—just in case the Scots decide on another way to leave the United Kingdom.
But with his charming looks and personality reminding us of Mr. Clooney, and Prince George still in line to be a future King of Scotland (at least until the next referendum), we found our Scottish connection there.
George just suited him best. Doesn’t it?
