My name is not Red.

‘Red’ is a sound they make that makes me feel good. It conjurs treats. Of being let up on the bed. It takes me back to puppy-hood, their faces looming huge against my snout, making me cross my eyes to see them as they breath their essence on me, rubbing my belly, making me feel cute and loved and smart. Not just accepted, but instrinsic.

But Red is not my name.

My name is un-utterable. It is a compound of smells and actions, a complex relationship of all that comes from me. And it cannot be said by anyone. It can only be expressed by me.

Other dogs know my name – and better yet, they know when I have been there before them. My name goes slightly ahead of me, and stays long after. No dog gets in that truck without knowing whose truck it is. Mine. They know it is mine.

Smell me, know my name.
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