Lucy and Gemma, two pretty little girls, live across the road from me.
While walking on the beach, I regularly meet a trio of handsome hunks named Max, Henry and George, as well as a stately old lady, Rosie, and her sprightly young companion, Ruby.
Their owners are Shane, Riley, Jordan and Tayla. (That’s one boy and three girls, for the record.)
For Lucy, Gemma and the others are dogs.
Whatever happened to traditional canine names like Bowser, Rover and Fido? And why do kids have such harsh-sounding names these days?
I find Edward, Steven and Anthony far more euphonious than Zane, Kane and Duane, but then again, I will happily admit to being a boring old fart.
But seriously, look at all the beautiful, feminine names parents could pick for their daughters – Madeleine, Susanna, Rose, Annabel, Georgina, Lydia come to mind – and yet they’re going for Maddison, Ashley, Tyler, Kelly, Morgan, Mackenzie and Bailey.
Until recently, those were all surnames. In that category, boys chip in with Jackson, Harrison and Cooper (the first two patronymics, the third an occupation – barrel-maker), but the trend is almost exclusively confined to their sisters.
There has to be something behind this sudden shift from family name to girl’s given name.
Perhaps in this post-feminist era, parents want to avoid saddling their daughters with names that make them sound like blushing, giggling pushovers, vulnerable to the slings and arrows of an unfriendly, ultra-competitive world.
So the family dogs, who have sharp teeth to defend themselves and in any case don’t care what they’re called (as long as they’re not called late for dinner), get the traditional names instead. If that’s the case, the girls are lucky not to be called Fang or Demon.
Logically, the upcoming generations should see the emergence of pooches named Wayne, Gary or Sharon. Anyone out there want to be a trend setter with their red setter?
Of course, all names have to start somewhere.
Some are contrived – Pamela, Vanessa and Wendy are notable historical examples invented by Richardson (in 1740), Swift (1713) and J M Barrie (1904) respectively. In about 1610, Shakespeare mis-transcribed Imogen from the original spelling, Innogen.
Recent additions are the likes of Latisha, Tommeisha, Delarn, Deshawn and Jayden, invented at some point by creative parents and then copied.
Current fashion also plays a major part in baby-naming.
For generations, girls have been called after singers and film stars (currently it’s Rihanna, Sienna and Keira) while boys get sports or rock stars’ names, which could explain the male Jordans.
Aspiration has to play a large part in this: Jenson Button’s dad gave his son a name he thought sounded like a champion racing driver. If it didn’t in 1980, it certainly does now, and in the UK it’s spawned a new crop of Formula 1 wannabes.
Another recent trend is to use a pet name – of the human variety – or abbreviation as a given name.
Jack was once a nickname for John, Harry for Henry. Charlie often pops up now in place of Charles, while Archie and Alfie are no longer confined to the 19th century (although the full versions, Archibald and Alfred, are unlikely to make a comeback). Generations ago, Nancy started life as a nickname for Anne; Polly and Molly came from Mary, while Natasha is still the Russian diminutive of Natalie or Natalia.
Some names that would have been disdained as hopelessly old-fashioned in my childhood are now firmly re-established – Emily and Amy, for instance, were once the preserve of crusty old great-aunts, while Benedict or Frederick would have been a venerable grandpa, not a baby.
But others from the same era such as Gertrude, Ada, Ethel, Reginald, Stanley and Albert look destined to stay stuck in the archives. I hear you mutter “No wonder”, but are they really any uglier than some of the modern monickers?
Back on the tail of those dogs before I get into too much trouble, and here’s my research on the provenance of some of their traditional names.
Fido: Latin for “faithful” and the name of one of Abraham Lincoln’s dogs.
Rover: the very first canine movie star (real name Blair), from Rescued By Rover, 1905.
Lassie: Scottish for “girl”.
Bullseye: Bill Sykes’ English bull terrier in Oliver Twist.
Spot: The black and white spaniel from Fun With Dick And Jane, the children’s readers of the 1930s, is actually more of a Patch.
Bowser: Goofy’s dog.
Buster: My dog. Well, he breaks everything.
And to conclude – the Russian space dogs of 1966:
Bars (meaning Panther or Lynx)
Belka (Squirrel)
Chernushka (Blackie)
Damka (Little Lady)
Krasavka (Beauty)
Lisichka (Little Fox)
Mushka (Little Fly)
Pchelka (Little Bee)
Strelka (Little Arrow)
Ugolyok (Little Piece of Coal)
Verterok (Little Wind)
Zvezdochka (Little Star)
Try saying that last one with a mouthful of Pedigree Chum.
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