A Confederacy of Three

I have finally named The Dog. I am Madame Gumbeaux. My truck is Pepe Burro.

The Dog shall be called Ignatius.

I know that I never mentioned the possibility of naming the dog, Ignatius. It came to me last night. The first mention of the name Ignatius in history belongs to one of the Church Fathers, who lived shortly after the death and resurrection of Jesus. Ignatius of Antioch was a martyr for the faith, eaten by wild animals. He must have been a brave man, to face death in this manner rather than recant his faith. The Dog needs that kind of name to be his model: to die for his owner in the face of imminent danger.

However strongly I desire a dog of strong faith, I have a canine whose character more closely resembles Ignatius J. Reilly, the fleshy hero of O'Toole's book, Confederacy of Dunces. Ignatius J. Reilly lived in New Orleans all of his life. One of my favorite lines from the book attributed to Ignatius is "I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.” This is more typical of The Dog. Just as soon as he spots a possible intruder, he finds solace between my legs, leaving me as the sole defender of the castle. 


Another reason to favor the name, Ignatius, is the ability to use nicknames. Amongst ourselves, he will be Iggy, or silly Iggy. On formal occasions, he shall be Ignatius. Among my Spanish speaking friends, he shall be called Ignacio. 


I may lapse and call him Boo at times. That's my generic name for all dogs, but he's no Boo Radley. He is too loud to be Boo Radley. 


We are a trifecta of dunces. I often lack purpose, which is exactly the opposite of what mission-minded people are supposed to be. Pepe Burro, the truck has been faltering, too. Silly Iggy is the perfect third to add to our confederacy.