By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

NEVER did I consider myself an animal lover. I had a couple of strange pets growing up, including a rooster named Randy and a fortune lobster. In fact, if you did that Internet quiz on your porn name (name of first pet plus street you grew up on), mine would be awesome: Randy Bonanza.

But I digress. I was pretty much a loner growing up, and pets never figured in the equation. Oh we had animals around us, but I was never the type to spend time with them. What I did like was giving them names. I mean, Brownie, Blackie and Doggie don’t cut it. I like names with a bit of a sense of humor. When my family got a rather sleek, longish dog and promptly named it Hotdog (not me), I took it to the next level and named our next dogs Ketchup and Mayo (that is me). But I never imagined that I would grow to absolutely adore dogs, the way my old boss Alya adored hers (hello Banana!). It’s all my wife’s fault.
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