What’s in a Name

I think I was born with the wrong name.  Actually I wasn’t born with a name, unless the term ‘live birth’ is a name.  I believe my parents thought up my name and gave it to me.  Well, that’s not correct either, my name is John, and I don’t think that my parents thought up the name John.  Back then the baby name books only had two names, John and Jon.  And what kind of loser doesn’t rock a silent H in their name?  So they figured I’d be like everyone else if they named me John.  They were wrong.  Now, having said that, I was thinking of changing my name, because if your name means anything, why stay with John right?  I instantly thought of changing my name to Lucky!  Do you know anyone named Lucky who isn’t happy?  Of course you don’t, because these days all people named Lucky are dogs and dogs are always happy.  Lucky dogs!  People used to be named Lucky all the time, but that was back when you worked on skyscrapers without harnesses or safety equipment, so you kind of had to be named Lucky or you would end up dead-y.  Can you imagine how someone named Greasy Joe or Slippery ANYTHING would have done up there?  When I think about it maybe they should have all been named ‘Unlucky’.   Unless they lived, in which case they really earned that Lucky name!  Or how about just going with the name Dog?  Why are dogs so happy when they live such short lives?  I figured no one had ever told them that we humans will go through like 6 of them in our one lifetime (Way up from the 2 dogs per lifetime people had in the non-harnessed skyscraper days).  Dogs should all be named Shorty because of their crummy life span.  My poor dog Rex died young, next month he’d have been 42.   Anyway, so I went up to a dog and I really took my time and explained to him how short of a lifespan he had, and how he shouldn’t be so happy because I will outlive the crap out of him.   He just sat there the entire time licking himself…..talk about Lucky!