My Farmer hates teddy bears.
I didn't know this, and he was obliged to see these perched on top of our wedding cake.
As I unpacked box after box into our new home shortly after our wedding day, he let me know of his lack of love for their sweet faces, so box after box got refilled for the Good Will. They were only things and I knew we really didn't have the space for all the junk. We needed the room for things we both loved.
My father-in-law joked that we ought to at least spell a dog with the humbling experience of being named "Fido" with some dignity: "Phydeaux." I think of that sometimes, when I feel certain ways toward our pooch. The time he wouldn't stop barking and I came to realize the forgotten teapot inside the house was singing while I was outside in the garden and he wanted me to be warned of it, he seemed more of a "Phydeaux." But when he came to the door at 11pm one night as I was getting ready to head to bed, finding him freshly sprayed by the local skunk, he was a pathetic Fido for the next few hours while I bathed him.
So it only stands to reason that now, after nearly 14 years of marriage, as we ad a new member of the canine species to our now somewhat mature marriage scenario: larger farm, 3 kids, I can cook a tolerable meal, and my Farmer can somewhat quietly tolerate a few intolerable ones; that we should know how to find a well-rounded, meaningful, perfectly-stated name to take us into the next segment of our journey together.
And so we endeavored to do so:
I suppose our love is just meant to stay unpretentious,
but full of sweetness like teddy bear faces...
or something like that.