What's in a Name?

How important is a name? For Wendell, names are very important indeed...

 

Wendell the weasel nosed wolf really didn't look very much like a wolf at all. Wendell didn't really have a very weasely nose. The more Wendel thought about it, the more he felt mis-named. What kind of name was Wendell anyway? Now Vincent or Alfred, there were a pair of fine names. So much better than Wendell which, in Wendell's opinion, was only just a step above being called Buford.

Wendell shuddered at the thought of being named Buford. No, as cruel as life may be, he was at least spared that indignity. Alfred on the other hand sounded like a very strong and proud name.

"Alfred", Wendell said while prancing slightly in a circle. "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. Alfred the much revered and under appreciated. Definitely a good fitting name."

Just Alfred alone wouldn't due though. There needed to be a rather important sounding last name to round things out. All those really important dogs had at least two names. Some even had four or five. In different languages at that. Wendell was a humble sort though. An important sounding last name would do just fine.

While thinking about last names that were important sounding enough to belong to him, Wendell patrolled the doorway once more stopping to sniff at an interesting spot on the carpet.

"What joyous luck!" thought Wendell. "Someone's dropped just the tiniest bit of chicken here." Licking furiously at the spot on the carpet, Wendell's mind drifted off to chickens and a thought struck him. "Feathersworth, Alfred Feathersworth."

Wendell licked his lips, chicken was a very tasty treat indeed. With nothing but a damp spot on the carpet now, Wendell finished his trek across the small room. Looking out the doorway and down the hall, both ways like a good sentry, he saw no sign of the territory stealing cats.

Wendell snorted, sneezed and licked his lips again. Cats. With their silent walking and staring eyes. Always trying to sneak into the room when you're asleep. Stealing attention from your humans right in front of your face not to mention behind your back. Those cats required constant vigilance.

The hallway was clear though. Nothing looked out of place. No new shadows since the last time he'd looked. No big, funny eyes staring back at him in challenge. Nope, the coast was clear and life was good. A quick spin around on his hind legs and it was time to head back to the corner of the room for a nap in his comfy bed.

"Alfred Feathersworth. Alfred Feathersworth." thought Wendell. "It's missing something. It needs that little bit extra. A third part to push it over the top. A history. Something that makes it sound old and important."

Reaching the plush bed, Wendell was was disappointed to find his brother Otis curled up sleeping soundly. This just wouldn't do. Otis was too big and a terrible sleeper to boot. Things are definitely not fun when you wake up under the weight of your big brother crushing you. Otis was like a heat seeking rolling pin. He would keep inching closer and closer to anything warm until he ended up on top of it.

"On the count of three, two," Wendell reared back and stood on his hind paws. "One!" Wendell brought his front paws down in a smooth sweeping motion landing on Otis's side and using the momentum to sail over his brother and land on the other side of him smoothly in the bed. A quick half turn and he managed to tuck his muzzle neatly under his forearm looking for all the world as if he'd been sleeping there for hours.

"Ouch, that hurt!" Otis sat up and looked around with bleary eyes. "What happened? Who's there. Man did that hurt".

Wendell looked up at Otis with exaggerated grogginess. "It was the cats 'o brother of mine. I was dozing but think I saw the orange one running off."

Otis stood up stretching and yawning loudly. Finally he sat back down staring at Wendell.

"Really bro?" he asked. "That's what you're going with? The orange one did it?"

Wendell tried to look as innocent as he possibly could, which, given the shape of his face and size of his eyes, was quite innocent indeed.

"I could be wrong. It could have been Massive Millie over there. Look, she's sitting there looking at us like we're a couple of juicy roast chickens."

"She likes us. Actually she likes me, you just piss her off." said Otis trying to suppress a chuckle. "Look. Why can't you just stop being a weasel and own up to what you do bro?"

"Fine, take her side. Some family, taking the side of a cat over your own brother."

"We both know you woke me up" started Otis.

"Did not" injected Wendell

"Did so."

"Did not."

Wendell dove at Otis, mouth open wide in an effort to scare him. Otis used his extra weight and size to good advantage moving so that Wendell slid under him as he lunged. This allowed Otis to grab the thick, loose skin on the back of Wendell's neck. Dragging Wendell backwards by the scruff of his neck, Otis tried turning at the same time so he could get into the bed leaving Wendell outside of it.

"BLAH! Blah blah blah! Wendell, Otis, BLAH!" boomed a human voice.

"Now you did it brother 'o mine."

"I did it?" cried Otis indignantly around a mouth full of his brother's scruff. "You started it."

"Doesn't matter. The humans will blame you."

Otis let Wendell go and took a step away from him all in one quick motion. For his part, Wendell ran up to the human, sat quickly in a crisp military fashion and began to shiver uncontrollably.

"Oh jeez. You are such a ham" Otis said with disgust in his voice.

"Watch and learn brother 'o mine. Watch and learn"

* * *

In the end the humans didn't seem to blame either one of the brothers. There was no muzzle biting, no throat grabbing, not even a demand for submission. They made a bunch of strange sounds, said Otis and Wendell a lot, waggled fingers which seemed like great fun to try and catch but brought about more and much louder sounds, and then went back to what they were doing before.

Weird.

"See" said Wendell. "It's all good and they blame you."

"How did you get that? They didn't say anything intelligent. Just made a bunch of noise."

"Trust me, they clearly said it was your fault."

"Bro, don't start. I'm tired because you woke me up and now the humans are mad at US" said Otis emphasizing the last word of the sentence.

"Humph"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, don't call me Wendell. I'm officially changing my name to Alfred Featherworth the Third".

"What? Where did you get that from?" asked Otis.

"I made it up while you were sleeping. It's my new name. You can't call me Wendell any more because I won't answer if you do."

"You can't just go around changing your name whenever you feel like" said Otis.

"Why not? It's my name, I can change it."

"Can not."

"Can so."

"Fine. How about I call you Alfie the Turd?" asked Otis trying to sound as innocent and un-assuming as possible.

"Turd?!" exclaimed Wendell hotly. "Maybe you're the turd. I'm Alfred Featherworth the Third and if you're nice to me I'll let you change your name to Phineas Butelsworth. You can't have a number in your name though, only little brothers can have numbers in their names."

"Bro" Otis said with a half chuckle in his voice. "I think when you were coming out Mom must have sat down and pushed you back in at least once. You're name's Wendell and mine's Otis."

"Fine, fine. You can keep Otis but I'm disowning Wendell and using Alfred Featherworth the Third." Wendell puffed out to his full height holding his muzzle high and beaming in the afterthought of his new, very important sounding name.

"Alfie the Turd" mumbled Otis as he walked towards the bed in the corner.

A growl escaped Wendell's lips. "If you call me that one more time, I'll... I'll... I'll chew your leg off!"

Otis stopped and turned slowly. Looking Wendell fully in the eye he assumed a haughty air and sang loudly, "Alfie the Turd. Turdy turd turd."

Wendell dove at Otis, mouth open wide.