So I really don’t like my name. I have to start out by saying that because being called “Buddy” isn’t very masculine. I sound like I should be riding a little, yellow bus or be some kid’s glorified Barbie doll. I should have been named something like Bruiser or Bluto, not that it has to be a “B”name…Geez, I would have even settled for Romeo. At least than, I would have been considered good with the ladies. But no, I’m Buddy, old pal, “man’s best friend” and I play the role: sitting at their feet, letting my tongue hang out, looking like I live for this, “I’m your best mate, crap!”
Let’s face it, I’m a Bull Dog trapped in a Retriever’s body. Sometimes, I just want to scream! Those are the days, when I do something really irritating to the “parental units”; they call themselves “mommy” and “daddy”, so they just let me outside for awhile. Yeah, you understood me right, like, “mommy loves her little Buddy.” But that’s a whole ‘nother story, for a different day.
There’s a Bull Dog that lives next door who’s named Riker. Now that’s a cool name. I mean Riker isn’t man’s best friend; he’s cool, untouchable, and if you mess with him he’s going to let you know it. He won’t even give me the time of day. Once I tried to talk to him through the fence. I was like, “Hey, what’s up, Riker?”
He asked, “You the Retriever next door, named Buuuddyyy?” He drew it out like that and it was obvious he was making fun of me, so I deepened my voice, tried to sound really casual and not at all unnerved, “Yeah, I’m Buddy!”
Riker just laughed and said, “Come back and talk to me, when you get a man’s name.” So, you can see why I might be a little touchy. I mean here is this really cool guy and even he knows that my name sucks; and let’s face it, he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Well, what are you gonna do about it?
