Guernica

We strive to uphold traditions and champion pretty much every worthwhile, time-tested cause. Hence, here´s another Freudian Remembrance Day post at the blog. And now we´re talking dogs.
Or rather, about a boy (aged 8) & his dog (aged like, 4 months old), and his mom (aged “mom”):

Mom: “Have you decided on what name to call the dog?”
Me: “Gonna call him Killer!”
Mom: “No, you are not.”
Me: “Why not?”
Mom: “Killer isn´t a good name for a dog.”
Me: “But it´s so cool!”
Mom: “It´s not. Besides, you got to pick the name for our first dog already.”
Me: “So?”
Mom: “So you called him after a McDonald´s sandwich.”
Me: “Yeah! That was pretty cool too!”
Mom: “I think I should pick the name for this dog.”
Me: “No, mom. C´mon!”
Mom: “Okay. Here´s what I am going to do. I´ll give you a couple of choices and you decide.”
Me: “Aww…”
Mom: “So?”
Me: …
Mom: “Don´t do that. Stop mumbling. And look up. Look at me when you talk.”
Me: “…Okay.”
Mom: “Good. Then choose: Tom. Or Stuka.”
Me: “I´m not calling the dog Tom!”
Mom: “It´s a good name for a dog.”
Me: “It´s a good name for a cat!”
Mom: “Well, if you don´t like it you can call him Stuka instead!”
Me: “Not calling the dog after a dive bomber from Nazi Germany!”
Mom: “It doesn´t have to be an airplane, it´s just a name. I´ve always wanted to have a dog named Stuka… ever since I was a little girl.”
Me: “...It sounds like a girl´s name. The dog´s male!”
Mom: “You don´t like Stuka?”
Me: “No way!”
Mom: “Well then. Go tell [dad´s name] about you new dog´s name…”

When my grandfather- father to my mother- passed away four years later I discovered this endless stack of Luftwaffe- themed books hidden in the closet behind his shirts.
True story.

[Will somebody please whistle that eerie X-Files song on this one?]