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The following is a non-exhaustive list of names and concepts you should avoid when naming your pet. The reasons to avoid them are many, but should be easily spotted by reading the selected Real Life Simulations of their usage below.

1. Something that sounds like a child’s description of medical symptoms or a body part. For example: Nuggles, Boompers, Babykins, Binky, Princypoo, Snuffles, Buttons, Tickles.

Real Life Simulation: “Yes, your honor, myself and Officer Richards arrived no later than 12:30am, and we could already hear Poopers barking from outside before we knocked on the door.”

2. The complete name of a historical or cultural figure. For example: David Hasselhoff, Aristotle, Marlon Brando, Peewee Herman, Oscar Wilde, Engelbert Humperdink.

Real Life Simulation: “Dan Quayle, come here right now! Bad dog! Bad dog! Come back in the house! No, do NOT shit on the neighbors yard! Dan Quayle come here this instant!”

3. The common name of the generic animal. For example: Cat, Snake, Rabbit, Fish, Bird.

Real Life Simulation: “Missing: Black Labrador retriever. 2 years old. Responds to name ‘Dog’.”

4. A word that has never before been used as a proper noun. For example: Prudence, Machismo, Charisma, Disparity, Prevalence.

Real Life Simulation: Upon discovering a woman looking behind a bush in your front yard, “Um, excuse me ma’am, can I help you?” “Oh no, I’m just looking for my Sanity. She’s run off again.”

5. Any combination of a title indicating status with a nonsensical last name. For example: Princess Buttersnaps, Lord Fauntelroy, Admiral Fuzzy, Mister Peeps, Ghengis Khat.

Real Life Simulation: “Hey, Steve, I know you’re working on the proposal, but could you do me a favor? I’ll be out of town tomorrow, and I need someone to come over and feed Colonel Snickers.”

Alternatively, this list could be used as a blueprint for a great pet name. Of course, by great I mean one that will make me hate you and everything you stand for. Knowledge is power.

The following was written for a creative writing class I took when I was 15.

I held the shaky screen door as my girlfriend walked out. We walked slowly, hand in hand, over the little grassy hill she and I had played on with our friends a long time ago. Down the driveway, where I had waited on my bike so many times, waiting for her to come out and play. Away from the ballfield where I had watched her practice at time and again. Toward the pain that is separation. The drive back to our house is too fast, passing many things I always wanted to do, but never will.

My dad works for an environmental agency, and he’s rather good at it. When one job ends, another one starts, most of the time on the other side of the continent. It’s always something. We have been moving a lot lately, every SEASON in Alaska, so you’d kind of think I’d be used to it by now. We have been packing for the past week. We live in a house with no beds, no chairs, and worse yet, no TV. There is almost nothing to do there at all, except for maybe play a game of cards with my brothers. But that gets old fast. I spent most of the last month at my girlfriend’s house. As I slowly say goodbye to all the people I know, I watch my time in this place get shorter and shorter, until, at last, it is the day before we leave. Tomorrow morning, at 7:00 A.M., my family will cease to live in the great province of Nova Scotia. We’re moving to Pittsburgh. Big whoop. Like I know anybody in Pittsburgh.

After saying goodbye to the rooms that were my companions for one and a half years, I walk toward the two figures standing by the big brown van. As I securely fasten myself into the van, the van that will put thousands of miles between my girlfriend and me, the ignition key is turned, and the gentle breeze carrying the singing bird’s song is replaced by the cough of a too old engine. As we drive away from the parts of familiarity, I am sure I never want to do this again.

 Note: Part of the class involved passing around what you wrote and having your classmates provide critical feedback. I remember one girl being incredibly offended that I wasn’t absolutely excited to move to Pittsburgh. “Some people really like Pittsburgh,” she said indignantly. I tried to explain that the assignment was to describe an especially vivid memory, but she wasn’t receptive. At that point I knew my central thesis had been conclusively proven: everyone from Pittsburgh sucks.

Update 8/3/06: The Related Posts feature I installed a while ago just slapped me in the face.

It seems that I have already posted this chapter. Both times I was in a creative rut and was rummaging through a folder of random words written long ago. I changed the title, but to those of you who didn’t notice: you’re not trying hard enough. Was I caught red handed? Am I really a sham who copies essays rote from other sources? Only a discerning reader will ever know for sure.

— and again from the top —

It was the last day of our hike through the High Uintas in northeastern Utah. We had weathered the lightning storm that echoed through the valley like the cries of some great god, lived through hiking in the hail that pelted us every step for miles on end, and could now tell stories of days of living perpetually in the rain. The morning was clear and bright; we had risen early and climbed above the tree line before we ate breakfast. Cheerios on the tundra of the high ridge of Bald Mountain, the thought still brings a smile to my face.

The High Uintas, if my memory serves me, have the largest alpine environment in the contiguous United States. Although the highest point, Kings Peak, is around 13,500 feet, the amount of elevated terrain above tree line is impressive, even to someone who has lived in the tundra’s of northwestern Alaska. We had left the alpine ridge and the five of us were hiking through the trees on the other side, leading down to the valley where we had parked. Having just found a creek and filled our water bottles, we were all set for a leisurely 8 mile hike back out of the wilderness. We were ready for many things, but not for them.

At first no one was quite sure what they heard. I thought it had sounded like a far away group of ATV’s sitting on idle while their occupants were looking at a map. My friend Justin said it reminded him of chainsaws in the distance. We knew that there might be rangers in the area, servicing trails, but unfortunately the reality was that the sound was far from human.

The noise grew louder, until it was a subtle rolling roar sounding from everywhere but directly behind us. Each step grew more wary, all of our eyes peeled on the forest before us, looking for the unseen horror that waited.

We all heard the cry at once, the distinguishing anguish that pierced through the roar and gave us a chilling shock as it told us, without doubt, what evil we found ourselves faced with.

“Baaah-aaah-aaah! Baah-aaaah!”

It seemed they appeared everywhere at once. When first the woods had been empty but for us, the rim of our visibility seemed to fill instantly with thousands of foul, disgusting, bloated, evil sheep.

We stopped walking to look at them in fear. They moved like a swarm, no unity but the push of those behind them, constantly changing, forever in turmoil. The mass seemed to notice us, as the individuals at the extremities seemed to be staring at us with the same concentration that we studied them. Stunned by the sheer massive clump of sheep surrounding our party, it slowly dawned on each person that this was no stationary mass. It was moving towards us.

Panic set in. Our packs disappeared in our mental images and we became fleet of foot, hustling to the left of the flock in an uphill attempt to try to dodge the relentless crawl of the sheep. It seemed to take forever to finally near the edge of the army, and we had to move closer as we avoided natural obstacles such as brush and rock formations.

As we evaded the swarm, I couldn’t help but notice the attention the sheep closest to us always gave. Those beady black eyes, staring, staring into you like they knew you were afraid, like they knew that they had such power over you that it wouldn’t even be a fight. Shake it off, ignore them, I told myself, continue hiking, and don’t let them know your fear.

We hiked on, the army of sheep baying and flowing through the forest of trees, as our lonely band of five adventurers moved through the wilderness. We walked an endless detour around the trail to get past the army, and finally upon regaining the trail at the very rear of the sheep, only then did we meet the general.

He was a sheep rancher who took his herd up to the High Uintas to feed every summer for several months. A couple of his friends would be coming up in a couple of days with more supplies, and they set up a camp and basically live up above 10,000 feet for the entire time. The herd of sheep eats the tundra and everyone is happy. Everyone is happy. Yeah right.

We saw death in several thousand white fluffy animals.

We hiked down the rest of the day, the memory of the army covering the crest of all that we could see still fresh in our heads. If you do get a chance to meet an army of sheep on the field of battle, know this: your only chance is to run!

It was the last day of our hike through the High Uintas in northeastern Utah. We had weathered the lightning storm that echoed through the valley like the cries of some great god, lived through hiking in the hail that pelted us every step for miles on end, and could now tell stories of days of living perpetually in the rain. The morning was clear and bright, and we had risen early and climbed above the tree line before we ate breakfast. Cheerios on the tundra of the high ridge of Bald Mountain, the thought still brings a smile to my face this day.

The High Uintas, if my memory serves me, have the largest alpine environment in the contiguous United States. Although the highest point, Kings Peak, is around 13,500 feet, the amount of elevated terrain above tree line is impressive, even to someone who has lived in the tundras of northwestern Alaska. We had left the alpine ridge and the five of us were hiking through the trees on the other side, leading down to the valley where we had parked. Having just found a creek and filled our water bottles, we were all set for a leisurely 8 mile hike back out of the wilderness. We were ready for many things, but not for them.

At first no one was quite sure what they heard. I, myself, thought it had sounded like a far away group of ATV’s sitting on idle while their occupants were looking at a map. Justin said it reminded him of chainsaws in the distance. We knew that there might be rangers in the area, servicing trails, but unfortunately the reality was that the sound was far from human.

The noise grew louder, until it was a subtle rolling roar sounding from everywhere but directly behind us. Each step grew a little more wary, all of our eyes peeled on the forest before us, looking for the unseen horror that waited.

We all heard the cry at once, the distinguishing anguish that pierced through the roar and gave us a chilling shock as it told us, without doubt, what evil we would find ourselves faced with.

“Baaah-aaah-aaah! Baah-aaaah!”

It seemed they appeared everywhere at once. When first the woods had been empty but for us, the rim of our visibility seemed to fill instantly with thousands of foul, disgusting, bloated, evil sheep.

We stopped walking to look at them in fear. They moved like a swarm, no unity but the push of those behind them, constantly changing, forever in turmoil. The mass seemed to notice us, as the individuals at the extremities seemed to be staring at us with the same concentration that we studied them. Stunned by the sheer massive clump of sheep surrounding our party, it slowly dawned on each person that this was no stationary army. It was moving towards us.

Panic set in. Our packs disappeared in our mental images and we became fleet of foot, and we hustled to the left of the flock, moving uphill to try to dodge the relentless crawl of the sheep. It seemed to forever to finally near the edge of the army, and we had to move closer as we avoided natural obstacles such as brush and rock formations.

As we evaded the swarm, I couldn’t help but notice the attention the sheep closest to us always gave. Those beady black eyes, staring, staring into you like they knew you were afraid, like they knew that they had such power over you that it wouldn’t even be a fight. Shake it off, ignore them, I told myself, continue hiking, and don’t let them know your fear.

We hiked on, the army of sheep baying and flowing through the forest of trees, as our lonely band of five adventurers moved through the wilderness. We walked an endless detour around the trail to get past the army, and finally upon regaining the trail at the very rear of the sheep, only then did we meet the general.

He was a sheep rancher who took his herd up to the High Uintas to feed every summer for several months. A couple of his friends would be coming up in a couple of days with more supplies, and they set up a camp and basically live up above 10,000 feet for the entire time. The herd of sheep eats the tundra and everyone is happy. Everyone is happy, yeah right.

We saw death in several thousand white fluffy animals.

We hiked down the rest of the day, the memory of the army covering the crest of all that we could see still fresh in our heads. It has been over a year since that fateful trip, which stands as one of the absolute most interesting backpacks I have ever been on. If you do get a chance to meet an army of sheep on the field of battle, know this: your only chance is to run!

That’s all I am. I stink. I have hair all over my body. I hurt myself on regular occasions by doing stupid things. I want things I can’t have, even though it should be obvious I can’t have them. I’m hungry almost all the time, and I eat what tastes good, not what’s healthy. I run from things that scare me, and I do things solely to impress others. I’m lazy, not wanting to do much more than I absolutely have to. I want to work just hard enough so I can feed myself and any chick monkeys I happen to have at the time, and trust me, as a monkey I like having chick monkeys running around all over the place. My goals are simple: have fun being me, cause that’s all I am.