After a busy morning of errands and a fun, noisy play date, we met David at the local playground for lunch while we waited for Phoebe and Joshua to return from tennis. We were sitting at the picnic table when two little boys and their dog came over from the playground.
The little red-headed boy walking the dog on the leash was probably about seven and his little blond, shirtless brother tagging behind was about three.
He inquired of us several times if we would like to pet his dog. We said, ” Sure, what’s his name?” He responded and I said, ” Oh that’s a nice name, hi there Butt-kins.” With the most incredulous expression, complete with scrunched up nose, and shocked tone in his voice, he stated rather loudly , back to me, ” His name isn’t Butt-kins. Butt-kins? Seriously?”
” Oh, I’m sorry, I heard you wrong,” I replied amongst the suppressed giggles of my husband and a few of my children.
” Butt-kins? Butt-kins? It’s okay. Well do you want to pet him?”, he still wanted to know.
The rest of our time together my husband good-naturedly teased me with various jabs about Butt-kins. In fairness, I thought the boy said, “Buttons” and David did too. But somewhere in the word association cobwebs of my rattled brain, I started thinking about a local bakery called Buskens, and the combination of Button and Buskens came out ” Butt-kins”.
We learned a lot about the dog in the next few moments. He was a small terrier, he had just been groomed, he has soft fur, he likes humans ( which was a good thing since we are humans), he likes walks and oh, his name is Watson.