The dogsh name was Junior!

Or Shades of Indiana!

While strolling back from the local Starbucks I passed a lady I'd passed before (not today, another day, another "before"). I recognized her but I didn't recognize her, because I recognized her dog. It was a little rat dog Chihuahua with a t-shirt. You don't see many dogs in t-shirts around my office, most of them are in buns. So this dog stood out. I passed the dog in a t-shirt and its owner and was waiting for the pedestrian crossing when I heard a voice calling out, "Junior! Come over here! Get over here, Junior!"

I turned around and it was the lady I hadn't recognized calling to the dog in a t-shirt that I had.

The only reason I could think of for calling a dog "Junior" is a maternal fantasy, an unfulfilled desire to be a mother. Dogs might be family but projecting your non-existent child on to them is just scary. Which is a very apt description for this woman. A few hundred years ago we might have burned her, or dunked her in the local pond. Or both. Better to dunk them afterwards though, they don't burn so well when they're wet.