Bandini

I always wanted a dog that went everywhere and did all the things. Our family dog, Jock, was a good dog, but he was not that kind of dog.

When I was seventeen, I talked my parents into letting me adopt a puppy I'd seen at a park. That one didn't work out, but as soon as they said yes, there was no stopping me. I went to a local shelter and found another one.

I named her Megan, and she was absolutely perfect except for one thing: She was harboring parvo.

Poor little girl died at the vet hospital less than a week later.

I was absolutely devastated, but also, I still wanted another dog.

The vet told us that, in addition to being deadly, parvo was very contagious. We needed to throw away all the bedding and toys that Megan used, disinfect the areas she'd spent time in with bleach and still wait three months before getting another puppy.

That was a long, hard three months.

When the time finally came, I found an adoptable litter with multiple tri-colored females in our area. When my mom and I went to meet them, their foster parent met us at the car and told us they were being very  selective. So far had not approved a single applicant. Then she led us to the backyard and there were so many puppies. I plunked down on the grass, and they all climbed on top of me. One of them peed on me. I laughed. After a few minutes, the foster woman said, "You can have a puppy."

But which to choose? They were all equally adorable. Eventually, I settled on the one with the most white on her chest and legs. Foster mom told me they called her "Swimmer" because she loved splashing in puddles. Perfect.

I was completely smitten. We took her home, and I spent all of the next week sitting outside and playing with the puppy.

Playing with her, but not naming her.

Truth be told, part of me was waiting to make sure this one lived.

The rest of my family started to get annoyed by the lack of name. Dad being Dad started calling her - I'm not going to redact this - Little Shit or Shithead. I didn't like that. I told him as much, so of course, he kept doing it. In a fit of annoyance, I told him to stop being mean. Her name wasn't Shithead, it was Bandini.

For those of you who don't know, the Bandini Fertilizer Company's Ski Bandini Mountain commercials were a staple of 1980's television, at least in Southern California.

Everyone knew that Bandini was the word for fertilizer.

Dad laughed, and pretty soon we were all calling the puppy Bandini.

That went on for another week. It might have stuck forever, but fortunately, my younger sister took me aside and told me in no uncertain terms that it was not okay. I could not name the dog Bandini.

I realized she was right. I thought it about it for a little bit and told my family her official name was Sally. Sally B.

B for Bandini.