Pet Names, and Divine Placement of Pets

No this isn't about cute little names to call your husband or wife, I am being literal. Pet names. I don't entirely know where I am going with this but...some people are very serious about naming their pets and won't let anyone do it for them. Other people don't really care about the pet name and are more concerned about the pet itself. I am kind of in the middle on this one.
I will give you a rare treat of hearing some real names instead of aliases today, because otherwise this blog entry would be even more pointless. The first pet I ever had was a cat that my dad brought home from the gas station. (My dad's gas station attracted homeless animals that my dad would adopt rather than abandon, thus for 30 years we never had to buy an animal, God brought them to us. Maybe I should call my dad Noah.) I was about four or five years old when he brought home a frightened but friendly cat into the house and told me that we had a new kitty.
Then I got the honor of naming the cat for the family, even though my brother and sister were there too. I thought for a whole microsecond before I said "Blacky!" Now you can take a wild guess at what color our new pet was, and like I said I was around four or five. My brother and sister groaned but they didn't get a say in that matter and Blacky became part of our family for the next 16 years.
When I got into fourth grade...er for the second time, I wanted a dog. Most kids, especially boys, want a dog some point in their childhood. I was a lonely and shy kid and I wanted a dog that I could play with and hang out with. So of course I came to the breakfast table one day and said "Dad can I have a dog?"
Behind the rumpling of a newspaper I can hear my dad trying to think of a way to talk me out of it since we still had the cat, I had two gerbils already, and he was probably worried if he got me a dog that I would ask for a horse next. "Hmmm..." he muttered for about a minute straight. "Well if you get all C's or higher and S's on your report card...I suppose maybe we can get you a dog."
"OK!" I said really excitedly, even though I never have gotten all C's or higher in my life back then, "Then I started giving specifics such as I want a beagle (Snoopy was a beagle, and he was cute, and I looked em up they are cute) and I wanted to name him Buddy.
"umm hmm," my dad said behind his newspaper and continued eating, thinking he would be safe from getting me a pooch with his wiley ways.
Well at "show and tell" I told everyone that I would get a dog if I got good grades on my report card, because I was so excited I had to announce it. Listening to this excited fourth grader that normally didn't talk was my teacher Mrs. Lark. She was a sweet lady that I would of called an old lady even back then, and I knew her since I went to her Sunday school class when I was five. She made it her mission that day to make sure that she helped me get good grades so I could get my dog.
Sure enough after the quarter was over, I got A-B Honor roll for the first time in my life and my dad's jaw dropped about ten feet into his newspaper. He said that he would have to set some money aside because adopting a "Beagle" from a pet store wasn't cheap so I would have to be patient and would have to walk it and feed it and make a house for it.
About two weeks later my dad came home with our big van and told me to come out to help him carry in the cashbox (It used to be an honor back then to help dad carry in his things from work back then.) When I opened the van door inside was...
This beautiful but half starved mutt. It wasn't a Beagle in the pure sense of the word she was a cross between a beagle, a basset hound, and Lord knows what else. She whined and rolled over on her back so I can pet her and was the sweetest dispositioned pet I had ever seen. It was clear though that before she came to us that someone had abused her and she was hoping I would rub her belly but also seemed scared that I would hurt her.
That rainy spring day my dad had opened the big door to his garage to air it out. He turned his back for a minute from the door to get himself a RC cola and a Snickers bar and out of this rain this dog came and walked into his garage. She was cold and hungry, and the rain was so bad outside. Even though she was afraid of people, she felt safe with my dad, and walked right past him and laid down on a stack of towels my dad used for repairing tires and went to sleep. Like I said, my dad is Noah and for some reason God brought us animals.
I petted this dog in the back of my dad's van, and I wasn't blind enough to think she was a boy dog, but I asked her if she liked the name "Buddy." Her response was to lick my face and wag her tail. I guess that was a yes.
"Well she's not a beagle exactly..." my dad said in a whisper, but he told me how she just walked into the shop that day. "Would you like this one even if shes not a beagle from the store?"
The dog looked up at me with her big brown eyes and wagged her tail slowly as if she was not wanting to get her hopes up.
"Yeah, I want this one...she's perfect," I answered.
With that she wagged her tail frantically, did this happy little whine, and licked my face again and climbed into my arms to be carried into the house.