by Dan Hiland

Created on: November 11, 2009

Dog, The Bug Hunter: Chapter Three

Now, as I was saying, I have my reasons for holding back on the dog's name. Yes, I helped name the dog "Orva" (which is French, you know). But unlike that undigested puppy chow Orva deposited on my trousers during the ride home, the name just didn't stick. In fact, no one liked it from the get-go- though it was not for lack of trying. I'd call her Orva every chance I got, but there was always someone there to muck things up. It's no wonder Orva couldn't get used to the name.

Charles called her "Putrid," just for laughs. Typical.

Dad referred to her as "Dog."

Mom called her "You."

While my older sisters basically ignored her at first, due to their "busy" social schedules, my sister Paisley did attempt to call her "Orva," but the effort was for naught, due to my younger siblings' various and sundry appellations for the canine.

Names ranged from "Doggy" and "Spike" (after the resident dog of the Tom and Jerry cartoons), to "Bug-Eater" and "Pom-Pom," the latter I found extremely offensive.

It's no wonder that after a few weeks of this, Orva stopped responding to any name she was called, which meant a lot of chasing around the property by us humans to get her attention. Sure she loved each of us, but the poor animal was confused. It would be a long time before we ever settled the issue.

One thing that Dog, as I'll call her for now, was not confused about, though, was insects. She hated them with a passion, and from the beginning seemed to make it her mission in life to track them down.

It was usually when we'd call and call her for dinner, or just because we hadn't seen her for hours, that we'd have to start the search. And what we invariably found was our pup either frozen in place and staring at the ground, or digging for all she was worth at the base of some rotted tree trunk or log. And if we watched long enough she would eventually stop and run up to the closest of us, whining and running back and forth as if to say "I found 'em. Now kill them all!"

She'd whine and puppy bark and then, if aggravated enough, would let loose with a pathetic sounding howl that even when she was young always gave me the creeps. Reminded me of the background sounds for those old Wolfman and Dracula movies.

And when we investigated, sure enough, there were ants or beetles or other bugs streaming from the dig site. But for all her concentration, she could just as soon run off to play with me or my siblings. She was still a kid, like us.

But as the

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