The name of a dog or cat can evolve over time. I often call Valentino “Teapot,” though I have no idea why. Mu’s name was Puppy when I bought him for $100 to free him from a life of abuse and neglect. I wanted to name him Ruggles, but that was discouraged, and his first ID tag read Mocha. A couple of months later, when I received him back from his first, foster family, his name had become Wakomu, which, I was told, means “He is family” in Chippewa. That’s a mouthful, and his name was commonly shortened to Komu. I have spoken this dog’s name more often than a pastor has said “Jesus”. Somewhere along the way, his name was shortened to Mu. Besides all the usual times you might say a dog’s name, I have also acquired the strange habit of singing “The Mu Song,” which is whatever popular song I heard on the radio recently, with all the words changed to Mu. More than a few times, I have wondered if some entity was listening to me, like Siri, or a Chinese microchip in an LED light bulb, or an NSA satellite collecting massive data on everyone, if they heard me saying “Moo moo moo, moo moo moo moo, moo, moo m-moo moo moo...” would they think I was crazy, or talking in a secret language. That doesn’t matter, as long Mu enjoys my singing, which he has assured me he does.
I don’t know when I started calling him The Mu. It really suits him. Recently, I saw a post on social media for a lost dog who was named Mu. (He was found quickly.) I didn’t want another dog to be named Mu. That’s my dog’s name. Probably no other dog in the world is named Wakomu, I would imagine. Even if there is, there will only ever be one “The Mu.”