Hare blinked at Dog. “What did you say they call you?”
“Daisy,” said Dog, idly scratching an itchy spot.
“I don’t get it,” said Hare, “a daisy is a flower. In fact, there are some right over there in the meadow.”
“I know,” said Dog. “But it’s just one of those things they do. My friends in town all have different names.”
“Are they all different kinds of flowers?” asked Hare.
“No, names can be anything,” said Dog. “Like ‘Princess’ or ‘Rocky’ or ‘Biscuit.’”
“How do you keep it all straight?” asked Hare, shaking his head.
“Oh, you get used to it,” said Dog. “The secret is to not try to figure it out. It just doesn’t make any sense, and that’s that.”
“I’ll say,” said Hare. “So these ‘name’ things can be anything at all?”
“Now that I think of it,” said Dog, “maybe not anything in the world. I think it has to be something nice.”
“Nice like food? Or like something you do?” asked Hare. “How about ‘Carrot’ or “Sliding Down Otter’s Mudslide Into the River?”
“I guess ‘Carrot’ could be a name,” said Dog doubtfully, “even though I’ve never heard of that one. But names are usually only one or two words; that thing about Otter’s mudslide is too long.”
“But that makes it easier to remember,” said Hare. “Aren’t they supposed to be easy to remember?”
“They’re supposed to be easy to say,” said Dog. “Imagine if I was on the other side of the field, and you wanted me to come over here; you need something easy to yell.”
“But that’s silly,” said Hare. “If you were on the other side of the field, and I wanted to talk to you, I could hop over there myself. Or wait to see if you stopped by, because you probably would.”
“That’s exactly it,” said Dog, “they like to stay in one place and say words to get things the way they want. And they’re terrible at waiting.”
“But let’s get back to the remembering part,” said Hare, “how do they all remember to call you ‘Daisy’?”
“Dunno,” said Dog. “They’re pretty good at remembering, I guess. They never seem to get it wrong.”
“But why do they need to bother?” asked Hare. “I know exactly who you are without making up a word I have to remember later.”
“Yes, well,” said Dog, “we know each other because of all sorts of things. How we smell, how we sound, all that. But I don’t think they know that stuff. They’re really bad at smelling. And they never seem to hear anything until it’s pretty loud.”
“Huh,” said Hare. “I guess that explains some things. So you’re saying that all they know about is words, so they use those for everything, whether they fit or not.”
Dog thought for a moment. “That’s not exactly what I’m saying, Hare, but I guess it’s close enough. They do use words for practically everything.”
“Well I think it’s silly,” said Hare.
“Oh, it is,” said Dog. “But it’s not so bad. You sort of get the hang of it when you’re around them all the time.”
“No thank you,” said Hare. “I think it would hurt my ears.”
“You’re right,” said Dog, “putting up with noise all the time is one of the drawbacks.”
“Why don’t you move into the forest?” asked Hare.
“I kind of like living with them,” said Dog. “They can be very nice once you get past the noise and the silliness. Also the treats they give me are very tasty. I should be getting back, I can tell they’re going to start calling me in a few minutes.”
“And wanting you to go there instead of coming here, I suppose?” said Hare.
“That’s the thing,” said Dog, “they would never be able to find me, and when they try things like that — things they’re just no good at — they get all huffy. And then they’re less fun. So it’s better to turn up when they start calling, and let them think hearing them is why you came back.”
“They really think that?” asked Hare.
“As far as I know,” said Dog. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hare.” Dog trotted off in the direction of her house.
“That,” said Hare to himself, “is nuts. ‘Daisy.’ You just can’t make this stuff up.”
