Names with meaning
EPONYMITY wins again! Last week's Mercury quoted an American expert on the ageing of dogs, a Dr Emily Pointer. What the report didn't mention was that among her colleagues at the Bergh Memorial Animal Hospital, in New York, are a Dr Lucas Labrador, a Dr Terence Terrier, a Dr Stephen Setter and a Dr Martin Mastiff. Not to forget the chief kennel man, Charlie Chihuahua.
Okay, only kidding. But eponymity can be uncanny. And sometimes it works in reverse. At the Royal Show many years ago there was an occasion when a Mrs Peacock, the show secretary, presented the Crowe trophy to a Mr Fowle for breeding the best chinchilla rabbit.
Yes, Thomas Crapper developed and gave his name to an item of bathroom furniture. Hans Geiger developed and gave his name to the counter of radio-activity. Henry Ford developed and gave his name to the Model-T. These are eponymous products.
Yet seldom do you find a vet with the same name as a gun dog. Except, of course, old Dr Selwyn Spaniel and Dr Roddy R Triever (No, kidding again)..
It recalls a cartoon in the Spectator. Two delegates are being introduced at a convention.
"Jack Daniels, I'd like you to meet Johnny Walker."
Above them is the convention banner: "Alcoholics Eponymous".
What a dog!
THE POINTER is a wonderful breed. Its liver and white colouring; its smooth coat; the way it points to a hidden game bird with its nose, one forepaw raised, tail outstretched and quivering; the soft mouth with which it retrieves a downed bird, never dreaming of crunching it. It's the culmination of centuries of training and breeding.
The best pointer I ever knew was called Chalky. He belonged to a friend. We once took Chalky for a run on the Woodburn rugby grounds in Maritzburg, then went into the adjacent Collegians Club.
It was Sunday lunchtime and the bowlers were sitting at a long row of tables set along the wall, blazers draped over the chairs behind them. Presiding was a prominent local attorney. Chalky took one look at this lot. Centuries of breeding moved into action.
Chalky ran down that line of blazers like a three-legged fire engine, one leg in the air as he widdled over the bowlers and their blazers. He was like a whirlwind irrigation sprinkler.
It caused consternation, uproar. In the confusion, Chalky snatched a few steaks and swallowed them. The club was divided between outrage on the part of the affected bowlers and the rest of the membership who thought it the funniest thing ever.
"As the attorney said afterwards in pained tones: "It spoils the day. You've had a nice morning playing bowls, you're having a nice lunch with your friends then next thing a dog swazzes on you and takes your lunch. It spoils the whole day."
In due course my friend got a note from the club committee, disinviting Chalky from future attendance. Such a pity, he was a dog with real talent.
Discrimination
WHICH recalls another case of club discrimination against dogs. A different friend was incensed when Yellowwood Park Club barred the dog of a regular.
Himself a breeder of beagles, he then enrolled his own dog as a member. Under "membership of other clubs". Bruce Beagle listed Durban and District Kennel Union and Natal Sporting Hounds Club. He signed the application form with a paw print. A cheque was attached and Bruce Beagle duly received a membership card.
However our sister newspaper, the Sunday Tribune, got wind of this. Next thing they had a front page picture of Bruce Beagle sitting on a bar stool, contemplating a pint of beer. At which his membership was rescinded.
But he had the last laugh. His name was on the club noticeboard the very next week. He'd won the meat draw.
A WOMAN is driving at 140km/h down the highway. She sees a motorcycle policeman chasing. She speeds up. She looks back and two motorcycles are chasing. She's now doing 160km/h. Then three cops are chasing. She spots a service station. Screeching to a stop, she runs into the ladies' room. Ten minutes later, she walks out. The three cops are standing waiting. Without batting an eyelid: "I'll bet none of you thought I would make it." Last word
The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at seven-thirty in the morning feeling just plain terrible.
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