What names have your pets had?

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Shoesalesman

Well-Known Member
Aug 12, 2010
1,814
4,093
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
Worked at the local humane society many moons ago; all were considered 'your pets' if you worked there. Got to see some really neat animals and abused critters that were STILL just looking for cuddles. We all spent our breaks/lunches sitting in too many kennels to count. Good times.

For myself/family at home, throughout all these years...
Dogs: Tritan, Mandy, Roscoe, Chase, Kobi, Hawkeye, Ranger, Aspyn
Cats: Jeremy, Ruffles, Josie, Banjo
Rabbits: Rambo, Whiskers, Fluffy
Hamsters: Hammy, Pickaxe, Hambone, War Bringer, Nuggets
Fish: they were just assigned numbers, was easier to track that way
 

swiftdog2.0

I tell you one and one makes three...
Mar 16, 2010
7,095
35,344
Macroverse
I forgot a few dogs.

Between King and Baron we had a rescue named Tabitha. She was a mixed breed. Who promptly got pregnant about a month after we got her. She then had 9 puppies. We kept two, Buster and Razz for a bit. Then sent them to other homes as we didn't have the space for them.
 

Grandpa

Well-Known Member
Mar 2, 2014
9,724
53,642
Colorado
He came around in 1982, when Grandma was pregnant with our third and final kid. He was just a guy in the neighborhood who wanted us to pay attention and feed him when he came around. To prove his worth, every now and then he'd drop a mouse at the pregnant mom's feet, which produced a mixture of horror and gratitude.

We left one night for a family outing, hearing yowling and growling in the bushes in front. I investigated, and there were two cats, face to face. Our little yaller friend was facing down a big furry adversary. I wasn't going to get in between that. I wished him well and left.

We came back, and he was on the stoop, calm, waiting for us. In the morning, I went to the front yard, and there was a ragged carpet of tabby fur. Our friend had obviously held sway. I looked around for the corpse of a newly-bald cat, but apparently it had gotten away.

We continued to feed him, and he hung around. We moved soon after, not too far away, brought him with us, waiting for him to leave, but he didn't. He kept growing, about an 18- or 20-pound cat. We named him George.

He was great with the kids. Little ones would come up, pull his ears or his tail, and he'd slit his eyes, wait patiently, and when they took a break, he'd walk off.

He terrorized the neighborhood feline population. I watched him early one Saturday from the upstairs window, and his positioning and tactics were brilliant. You could see his opponent think, "I can't run, because he'll catch me, and I'll I'm doing by staying is ensuring that I'll get the sh!t beat out of me." And yeah, that happened.

Time and the odds catch up, though, and one day he came back with his shoulder laid open and part of an ear gone. I took him to the university vet hospital. The young lady vet said, "I love working with these old toms. So full of scar tissue. You can do anything with them, and they don't complain." She walked off with him and patched him up - and, yeah, neutered him - and he got through it just fine.

Many adventures later, we moved again, and him with us, but then he developed a problem. The proud warrior body shrunk to skeletal form. A tumor, the vet told us. George got steroids that made him feel better for a while and gained a little weight back, but he was obviously on life's short leash, and we waited for him to die.

Nope. In his last couple days, he strode out on his own, either too prideful or too considerate to have us deal with his death. He went out on his own terms.

He was never really our pet, just a guy who hung around, entertained us, and we shared our food with him. We talk about him still.
 
Last edited:

Grandpa

Well-Known Member
Mar 2, 2014
9,724
53,642
Colorado
The next one was a cat for people who aren’t cat people. Not too affectionate, not too standoff-ish. Not a lap cat, but a friendly one, at least with humans and dogs.

The Daughter brought the kitten home when the Daughter was 16 and gave him what turned out to be the misnomer “Runt.” They were great together. She taught him to climb up her jeans to meet her, a practice which ended when he tried to do the same with me. In the morning. At the breakfast table. As I was in gym shorts.

He got along famously with our dog at the time, Nakaya, who mothered and fussed over him. I think that’s where he got a lot of his great personality. Nakaya was integrated into the family, and she integrated Runt in as well. I mean, how many cats come when you call their name and will sit up for treats?

He was a handsome, if everyday-looking cat, eventually on the large side, with a couple striking features: teeth and eyes. Sabreteeth. The kind that hung down out of his mouth, over his lip, and when he yawned, it was fearsome-looking, even for a housecat. And yellow eyes. Demon eyes, the kids called them jokingly. As the years and months went by, the eyes turned a more normal green in middle age, but we remember those yellow eyes in that brightly alert and aware cat.

He was fearless and indomitable in battle, and a skilled hunter, sometimes to our chagrin. He moved to a new house with us, prowled around, and never saw a neighborhood he couldn’t conquer. He came home one time, finally, with battle wounds that needed expert care. One of them was a bad scratch across the eye. He never saw the same out of that eye again, but he never complained, never showed pain. Looking at those wounds, I was conflicted. On one hand, I thought, “Well, buddy, you finally met your match.” But deeper inside, I knew the probable truth: “Oh, man, I hate to think how the other guy looks.”

And yet, off the battlefield, gentleness prevailed. He enjoyed children, and like George, when the little ones would pull at his ears, he’d sit there, squinting, patient, until he found a moment to exit with grace and dignity. When his dog-mentor Nakaya was gone, and we brought in the new puppy, Quin, it was not long before he and Quin were fast friends. They would nuzzle together, they would curl up and sleep together, and when Quin got excitable with the Frantic Tail Wagging, Runt would sometimes take a few unintended whacks across the face before sighing and walking away.

Wasn’t much of a lap cat. Preferred to sit with you than on you. Runt was just the tough and laconic good friend that you know had a warm heart, whether he chose to show it at a given time or not. He was good company, always friendly, never mean. Maybe a little annoying when he thought it was time for us to get up, but that too was part of his charm. I can't stress enough how he seemed like George reincarnated.

Age, as it does for all of us, took its inevitable and sadly entropic toll on him. But even when failing at 17, he was still uncomplaining. And when the tipping point was crossed, we made his last times very peaceful, very comfortable, filled with love, caring, and great food. When he left us, it was looking into the Daughter’s eyes and feeling the caresses of his family. A very fitting way to go for an old warrior…..

… and very good friend.

Happy hunting, Runt.
 

Grandpa

Well-Known Member
Mar 2, 2014
9,724
53,642
Colorado
We had her as part of a litter of pups that we'd inherited. The owner of the mom dog was going to drown the puppies as unwanted, our friend had rescued (stolen) the little ones, and we ended up with them.

I was adament about not keeping them, and the bedding changes and 2 a.m. feedings reinforced that. So when their eyes were open, we put an ad in the newspaper (analog information delivery system) for free puppies.

Our own kids watched the puppies get taken out the door one by one and the entreaties began. Nope, nope, they're going. Of course, I relented on the last one when their (my kids') whining was at its most desperate.

Best.Decison.Ever.

We called her Nakaya. She grew up with the kids. She didn't consider herself a dog. She was integrated into the family. She was never happier than when she was out with us and never sadder than when we left and said, "Be good dog. Guard house."

Running away was simply not an issue. She would go to the property line and stop. She was part of us. Why should she leave?

She was wonderful with kids. She knew that she wasn't supposed to beg at the table and would ask to get let out as soon as we started setting up for dinner. When we finished, she'd scratch at the door, we'd let her in, and she'd go immediately to where the youngest kid had been sitting.

In this little post, it's hard to encapsulate what she meant to us. She knew our moods and actions and acted in concert to them. She had so much personality, in line with the essence of our human family life.

She wasn't a pet. She was a member of the family. I'd go to my office, and she lay down on her rug there, always faithful, ever vigilant.

At age 14, maybe, plus or minus, she developed an Issue, and it was time for her to go. Our - no, her kids were grown by now and had moved out, but they came back to the house to say good-bye, with no little tears.

The next day, I took her to the vet. My friend, my virtual kid, and taking her to the final stop was heart-breaking. Coming out of the car, as sick as she was, her energy failed her, and I picked her up and carried her in, feeling like the worst traitor in the world for carrying her to her death.

There's not enough room in this post to encapsulate what she was to us as a lifelong friend, family member, sister, daughter, mother to our cats (!), and general comforting presence.

A flowery box containing her ashes, her leash on top, and her picture are in my office yet. We do miss you, our dear girl.
 

Arcadevere

Gentle Lady From Brady Hartsfield Defense Squad
Mar 3, 2016
793
3,689
Manila, Philippines
steamcommunity.com
Our pet dog was name Guia but we give him to my uncle who loves dog so much because my mom hates dogs

We have once have a chicken as a pet, two big chickens, and they lay eggs so our breakfast was chicken fresh egg lol. Two chickens, named Haytham and Althea. Because they are too big for our cage, we decided to sell them and what i did to my share is to buy a book.

I have a personal pet, stray Cat, they were always at the outside of they house like she was guarding my house, it's not our official pet but since the cat was good to me, i named the two cats Varjack and Tammy.

And now we have a rabbit as a pet, Lina and Rylai. Unfortunately, Lina died and we don't know why but Rylai was there, she was my cuddle of Joy right now and i love watching her jumping all around the house and trying to break the glass of my bookshelf lol
 

Jojo87

Prolific member
Jan 8, 2009
7,468
19,518
37
Finland
Dogs
Uno- my 7 year old collie and gernan shepherd mix breed dog.
Jane- my 6 year old mix breed dog

Past dog
Cindy- I owned her 2 months before she ran under a car and died. She was a labrador and gernan shepherd mix breed dog. She was only couple of months old when she died.

Cats
Jackson- my partners cat actually but when we live together he have become my cat as well.

Sandy- Also my partners cat but as Jackson Sandy has become mine too.
They are both indoor cats.

Past cat
Sotis- was mine 7 years before she died.

Past horses
Asta- I owned her 18 years before she died of old age (36) this January
Ronja- She's still alive, but live with a new owner now. I owned her 6 years
Varjo- Live in a riding school. I owned her a year and couldn't keep her because she didn't fit for me.

At this moment I don't own any horse or horses.
 

Mr Nobody

Well-Known Member
Jul 9, 2008
3,306
9,050
Walsall, England
The first pets I can remember were a couple of budgies called Peter and Paul. I was about 3 at the time. Peter died, leaving Paul alone. Fortunately(?), my grandparents on my mom's side also had a pair of budgies, so when one of them died a few weeks after Peter snuffed it, Paul went to keep my grandparents' surviving bird company. I seem to remember them having that bird for a very long time.
The only other bird we had was a zebra finch that my dad found abandoned in a phone box. We called him Mip-Mip (well, my dad did...) because that was the only sound he ever made. He lasted about five years.

Dogs:
Just after Paul went to live out his life with my grandparents, my dad got a dog. I can't rightly remember her name or what type she was, and only remember it was a female because of the puppies she had - one of them came out jet black but with a clear white marking on the hindquarters in the shape of a number 8. I wanted to keep that pup, but my parents said no and that was that. I can't remember what happened to her, either, but we had her in 1976 and by 1979 when we moved house, she was long gone.
In late 1979 we had Snuff, an Old English sheepdog. She was a rescue dog, already about 5 when we had her, and was very fussy and affectionate. She'd often wait by the front gate for me coming home from school (school was literally around the corner, so I walked home by myself from the age of 7) then come bounding down the road towards me as soon as I turned the corner. She was a big dog - massive compared to me back then - but she'd always put the brakes on before she reached me so she didn't send me flying. After the ensuing doggy-bath, she'd then lope along beside me. She had to be put to sleep in March 1981 due to a fast-growing cancer and was the only dog I ever truly loved. (And here's a thing: just writing that made me think of her and tear up again. Daft or what?)
After Snuff we had Cassie, a Labrador. Again, she was a rescue dog. She was great with me and my sister. Loyal, affectionate, protective. We didn't have her long, though. Probably only a matter of months, from what I can remember and piece together from house move dates. We lost her when a friend of mine decided it would be fun to tease her while she was asleep. She reacted badly to whatever it was he did and bit, leaving him requiring stitches in his face. His parents demanded that we have the dog destroyed or they'd sue. That was the end of Cassie, though my mom did that thing where, by some miracle, the vet just happened to know someone who would take her. Being a kid, I fell for it despite my mom's obvious distress.
Then in 1983 we had Paddy, a 'Lassie'-type collie. He was brilliant, a gorgeous dog, but had so much energy it was untrue. A few months after he arrived my dad was involved in a motorbike accident that left him unable to work for months, then just as he was about to go back he got a note saying he was being laid off. Paddy was an expensive animal to keep, but I made my parents promise to keep him. They said they would, but then one day while I was at school, he apparently escaped when the bin men left the back gate open. Hmm. We didn't have a car so I don't think it was a case of him being taken and dumped - if I thought that I wouldn't have been on speaking terms with my folks for the last 30 years) - but Paddy never showed up again and my dad suddenly seemed to have a few quid in his pocket, so I presume Paddy was sold on.
That was it for dogs.

Cats:
We had a silver tabby for a while in 1978/79, a kitten, again called Peter. He died when a woman over the street put poisoned bacon rinds down 'for mice and rats' and he ate them. No more rinds were put down after he was gone, so that I decided, at 5-6, that the old b*tch had intended to kill my cat. So the next time I saw her, I wished her to Hell where she'd hopefully burn forever. My mom fair tanned my backside for it, but I didn't care then and I don't now.
At around the same time we had Snuff, my sis and I had a pair of black and white female kittens - sisters - called Tammy and Tilly. Tammy (my cat) disappeared after about 3 months, only to turn up later in a corner of someone's shed with a litter of kittens, though by then she'd gone totally feral. Tilly hung around for quite a while after, even making another move with us, so she must have been there in 1981. It wasn't a good move for her, though. Though the road was a quiet one, she got hit and killed by a car.
Our next cat was Tiger, aka Tigger or Tiggy - he'd answer to them all and come trotting over, mewing as if to say 'Yeah, now what?' - and for a long time he was the cat equivalent to Snuff as far as I was concerned. He had his scrapes, including just about surviving his own encounter with a car (he got away with a gash near his mouth that needed a number of stitches to sort out, a few lost teeth, and a broken front paw). He was gone for days initially, which was very rare for him - he was usually waiting outside the door every morning - though we couldn't find him anywhere. Somehow, he made it back from wherever he'd been, even managing to jump over a fence, broken paw and all, and could only be located after that because of the yowling noises he was making. I've never heard anything so pitiful in my life, before or since, and don't care to either.
That happened when he was about 2, in 1988, and he was around then until he finally died of kidney failure in July 2001. Typically for them, my folks didn't bother to call or tell me they couldn't afford to take him to the vets, either to get him treatment or ease his suffering, so the poor little bugger just went out the hard way. That made me angry for a good long while, because while I didn't really have a lot, I'd have paid for whatever he needed in a second.
Besides being a bundle of energy, at least until his accident, Tig was also fearless. He'd sit at the end of our front path and refuse to budge an inch even when one of the neighbours walked by with his three Great Danes. One of the dogs even got a swipe across the nose for daring to encroach on Tig's territory. The dog went nuts, but old Tig still didn't leg it. I never did know if he was totally stupid or crazy-brave. When he died I was as done with cats as I was with dogs after Snuff.

My gf was never allowed pets as a kid, though, so inevitably she wanted at least one once we were able to (cost and, at the time, rent conditions permitting).
Enter, in 2008/09, the three black and white fluff balls masquerading as cats that we have now: Bob, Nibs and Luna.
Bob is also known as King Robert, partly because he sits there with his chest puffed out like he owns the world, but mostly because he's big, fat and daft as they come (and yep, it's a GoT reference - though he was Bob before the show existed). I've never known a cat quite like Bob, tbh. He never lashes out, claws or bites in anger. The only time you feel his claws are when he pads on your leg or grips a hand so he call pull it closer and hold it in a cuddle position, and when he nips, which is very rare, it's because he wants stroking and you're not paying him enough attention. Last time we weighed him, he weighed about 1.5 stones...or about 20 lbs. He's massive and a complete and utter wuss. I love him to bits and he generally tends to favour me (though my gf reckons it's because I'm a pushover where he's concerned, and she's probably right).
Nibs (short for Nibbles) is Bob's sister. She's as smart as Bob is daft and is probably self-aware (she recognises herself in mirrors and very quickly sussed out that the little red dot on the floor came from whatever the thing was we were holding...and promptly lost interest as a result). She got her name from my niece, when my niece was only 7, because she (the cat, not my niece) had a tendency to chew on anything and everything, especially if she wants food or attention. She's very much my gf's cat.
Then there's Luna. Half-sister to the other two - different litter, same mother, questionable as to the father - lazy but crazy (hence the name: she can be a lunatic) and extremely cute. We actually had her last, in mid-2009, though she's only about 4 months younger than the others. She's usually to be found curled up on the bed, piles of washing (clean or not, she doesn't care), even shoes. She's more independent-minded than the other two; she likes a cuddle, but only on her terms (so much more like a cat), though when the mood takes her she is an equal opportunities fusspot.
 

not_nadine

Comfortably Roont
Nov 19, 2011
29,655
139,785
Behind you
The first pets I can remember were a couple of budgies called Peter and Paul. I was about 3 at the time. Peter died, leaving Paul alone. Fortunately(?), my grandparents on my mom's side also had a pair of budgies, so when one of them died a few weeks after Peter snuffed it, Paul went to keep my grandparents' surviving bird company. I seem to remember them having that bird for a very long time.
The only other bird we had was a zebra finch that my dad found abandoned in a phone box. We called him Mip-Mip (well, my dad did...) because that was the only sound he ever made. He lasted about five years.

Dogs:
Just after Paul went to live out his life with my grandparents, my dad got a dog. I can't rightly remember her name or what type she was, and only remember it was a female because of the puppies she had - one of them came out jet black but with a clear white marking on the hindquarters in the shape of a number 8. I wanted to keep that pup, but my parents said no and that was that. I can't remember what happened to her, either, but we had her in 1976 and by 1979 when we moved house, she was long gone.
In late 1979 we had Snuff, an Old English sheepdog. She was a rescue dog, already about 5 when we had her, and was very fussy and affectionate. She'd often wait by the front gate for me coming home from school (school was literally around the corner, so I walked home by myself from the age of 7) then come bounding down the road towards me as soon as I turned the corner. She was a big dog - massive compared to me back then - but she'd always put the brakes on before she reached me so she didn't send me flying. After the ensuing doggy-bath, she'd then lope along beside me. She had to be put to sleep in March 1981 due to a fast-growing cancer and was the only dog I ever truly loved. (And here's a thing: just writing that made me think of her and tear up again. Daft or what?)
After Snuff we had Cassie, a Labrador. Again, she was a rescue dog. She was great with me and my sister. Loyal, affectionate, protective. We didn't have her long, though. Probably only a matter of months, from what I can remember and piece together from house move dates. We lost her when a friend of mine decided it would be fun to tease her while she was asleep. She reacted badly to whatever it was he did and bit, leaving him requiring stitches in his face. His parents demanded that we have the dog destroyed or they'd sue. That was the end of Cassie, though my mom did that thing where, by some miracle, the vet just happened to know someone who would take her. Being a kid, I fell for it despite my mom's obvious distress.
Then in 1983 we had Paddy, a 'Lassie'-type collie. He was brilliant, a gorgeous dog, but had so much energy it was untrue. A few months after he arrived my dad was involved in a motorbike accident that left him unable to work for months, then just as he was about to go back he got a note saying he was being laid off. Paddy was an expensive animal to keep, but I made my parents promise to keep him. They said they would, but then one day while I was at school, he apparently escaped when the bin men left the back gate open. Hmm. We didn't have a car so I don't think it was a case of him being taken and dumped - if I thought that I wouldn't have been on speaking terms with my folks for the last 30 years) - but Paddy never showed up again and my dad suddenly seemed to have a few quid in his pocket, so I presume Paddy was sold on.
That was it for dogs.

Cats:
We had a silver tabby for a while in 1978/79, a kitten, again called Peter. He died when a woman over the street put poisoned bacon rinds down 'for mice and rats' and he ate them. No more rinds were put down after he was gone, so that I decided, at 5-6, that the old b*tch had intended to kill my cat. So the next time I saw her, I wished her to Hell where she'd hopefully burn forever. My mom fair tanned my backside for it, but I didn't care then and I don't now.
At around the same time we had Snuff, my sis and I had a pair of black and white female kittens - sisters - called Tammy and Tilly. Tammy (my cat) disappeared after about 3 months, only to turn up later in a corner of someone's shed with a litter of kittens, though by then she'd gone totally feral. Tilly hung around for quite a while after, even making another move with us, so she must have been there in 1981. It wasn't a good move for her, though. Though the road was a quiet one, she got hit and killed by a car.
Our next cat was Tiger, aka Tigger or Tiggy - he'd answer to them all and come trotting over, mewing as if to say 'Yeah, now what?' - and for a long time he was the cat equivalent to Snuff as far as I was concerned. He had his scrapes, including just about surviving his own encounter with a car (he got away with a gash near his mouth that needed a number of stitches to sort out, a few lost teeth, and a broken front paw). He was gone for days initially, which was very rare for him - he was usually waiting outside the door every morning - though we couldn't find him anywhere. Somehow, he made it back from wherever he'd been, even managing to jump over a fence, broken paw and all, and could only be located after that because of the yowling noises he was making. I've never heard anything so pitiful in my life, before or since, and don't care to either.
That happened when he was about 2, in 1988, and he was around then until he finally died of kidney failure in July 2001. Typically for them, my folks didn't bother to call or tell me they couldn't afford to take him to the vets, either to get him treatment or ease his suffering, so the poor little bugger just went out the hard way. That made me angry for a good long while, because while I didn't really have a lot, I'd have paid for whatever he needed in a second.
Besides being a bundle of energy, at least until his accident, Tig was also fearless. He'd sit at the end of our front path and refuse to budge an inch even when one of the neighbours walked by with his three Great Danes. One of the dogs even got a swipe across the nose for daring to encroach on Tig's territory. The dog went nuts, but old Tig still didn't leg it. I never did know if he was totally stupid or crazy-brave. When he died I was as done with cats as I was with dogs after Snuff.

My gf was never allowed pets as a kid, though, so inevitably she wanted at least one once we were able to (cost and, at the time, rent conditions permitting).
Enter, in 2008/09, the three black and white fluff balls masquerading as cats that we have now: Bob, Nibs and Luna.
Bob is also known as King Robert, partly because he sits there with his chest puffed out like he owns the world, but mostly because he's big, fat and daft as they come (and yep, it's a GoT reference - though he was Bob before the show existed). I've never known a cat quite like Bob, tbh. He never lashes out, claws or bites in anger. The only time you feel his claws are when he pads on your leg or grips a hand so he call pull it closer and hold it in a cuddle position, and when he nips, which is very rare, it's because he wants stroking and you're not paying him enough attention. Last time we weighed him, he weighed about 1.5 stones...or about 20 lbs. He's massive and a complete and utter wuss. I love him to bits and he generally tends to favour me (though my gf reckons it's because I'm a pushover where he's concerned, and she's probably right).
Nibs (short for Nibbles) is Bob's sister. She's as smart as Bob is daft and is probably self-aware (she recognises herself in mirrors and very quickly sussed out that the little red dot on the floor came from whatever the thing was we were holding...and promptly lost interest as a result). She got her name from my niece, when my niece was only 7, because she (the cat, not my niece) had a tendency to chew on anything and everything, especially if she wants food or attention. She's very much my gf's cat.
Then there's Luna. Half-sister to the other two - different litter, same mother, questionable as to the father - lazy but crazy (hence the name: she can be a lunatic) and extremely cute. We actually had her last, in mid-2009, though she's only about 4 months younger than the others. She's usually to be found curled up on the bed, piles of washing (clean or not, she doesn't care), even shoes. She's more independent-minded than the other two; she likes a cuddle, but only on her terms (so much more like a cat), though when the mood takes her she is an equal opportunities fusspot.
:smile2:
 
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staropeace

Richard Bachman's love child
Nov 28, 2006
15,210
48,848
Alberta,Canada
I have had pet lambs and goats. Had a rooster named Bert. Had a Shetland pony named Laddie.
So many cats since birth that I cannot possibly remember them all. These are the ones that just belonged to me and I loved with all my heart.
Macbeth, Tabitha, Licorice, Luke, Simon, Dracula, Sarah, Shiloh, Bojangles, Scatman, Shadow, Oz, Peter, Hercules, Oliver, Twix, Ziggy, and Alexander.
 

Kati33

Well-Known Member
Jan 22, 2013
198
830
Kansas
Dogs:
Asher- lab/ACD mix, she was black with grey and a white tip on her tail, husband said she looked like a burnt log.
Hank- corgi, named after the literary Hank the Cowdog
Case- red ACD, named after the tractor brand (though he wears a John Deere collar, not everyone catches the irony)
Dura- blue ACD, her registered name is a portion of the brain (Latin for blue spot) so I went with the brain covering as her call name

Reptiles:
Daisy- rosy boa, named her after my favorite flower
Dragon- leopard gecko, he's a jerk
Copper- crested gecko, my niece named him as he was a golden brown color

Rats:
All of my rats have been named after other animals. My current 5 are: Panda, Civet, Hippo, Zebra and Lynx. In the past we have had Otter, Jaguar, Wolf, Bear, Frog, Moose, Squirrel, Sifaka, Okapi, Emu, Turtle, Elephant, Ox, Opossum, Octopus, Cassowary, Goose, Squid, Coati, Flamingo, Orca, Puffin, Sloth, Bo(vine) and her litter named after cows- Angus, Dexter, Watusi, Charolais, Zebu, and Jersey [Yes, that is a lot of rats, I generally keep them in groups of 4, though I had up to 12 at one point, they have a short life span of just a couple years and I've been keeping rats since about 2002]

Cattle:
Maddie- came with the name, her registered name contains Madeline
Riggin- came with the name
Rusty- wanted another "r" name and he (along with the other two) is red
 

Tery

Say hello to my fishy buddy
Moderator
Apr 12, 2006
15,304
44,712
Bremerton, Washington, United States
I had totally forgot that we have a farm cat. He just paid me a visit (Willow and Mimi haven't been brought over yet). His name is Yang and he is at least 20 years old. He is the rat killer, keeps the barn safe. He is still fat, sleek and shiny black with bright yellow eyes. Looks like he's ready for another 20+ years.
 

The Nameless

M-O-O-N - That spells Nameless
Jul 10, 2011
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The Darkside of the Moon (England really)
Had numerous birds over the years but the only one I can remember is magic - an evil cockatiel that would peck anyone who went near its cage except my mum. It was the worst pet I ever had.

We had a hamster called milo - we got him just after The Mask came out and that was the dogs name in the film.

Dogs.

1st one I had was a golden retriever called Kim (even though he was male), I think he lasted until he was about 14.

Bouncer, cross breed (most of our dogs were) but not sure what kind or even how many. He was nuts (hence the name) but sadly only lasted about 6 months due to pavo.

Sheba, part black lab but smaller. She was a great dog, very loyal and we'll behaved.

Ben - we didn't name him, we got him aged 1 or 2 off an old lady who couldn't handle him. As it turned out, we could hardly handle him. Temperament wise, he was good as gold, not possessive of food or toys at all. He was just so boisterous and energetic, he was part Staffordshire Bull terrier and part lurcher so if he ever got out without a lead on he would run so fast and not let you get near him. I had Ben for around half of my life before he died and throughout that time he somehow accumulated many nicknames including: choo-choo, flubber, stink bomb, and when he annoyed my dad "white heathen b@stard".