"Call me anything but late for dinner…"

"What's his name again?" I've probably heard that question asked about my name more times than I can lick a salt rock. Then they shrink up their noses and ask, "Where did he get a name like that?" My person always answers, "It's a long story, but way back when…" and the story is told. Again, and again….
What's in a name? History, if nothing else. Actually, I have many names. My real name is Pasquale, but nobody ever calls me that anymore. I reckon 'cause it's too long, and hard to pronounce, let alone remember. And I never could spell much, so it's just as well.
I remember when I was called Pasquale (Puh-SKWAL'-e) all the time, about eighteen years ago, back in my senior polo days in good ol' Texas, when I belonged to someone else. At that time, I was fed and exercised by the person who happens to own me now. Bein' a teacher, she couldn't leave her work at school, if y'all know what I mean. She brought her work with her, in her mind. One day after school she was practicin' somethin' that she had been teachin' "to get in the habit," she said. An alphabet-challenged kid who was learnin' the sounds of the letters needed help, so many words that they used durin' the day were spoken with their startin' letter first. K-kite, D-David, P-pencil. My person started doin' it around the barn - B-bucket, R-rake; S-saddle; K-karrot - oops - y'all get the picture. Next thing I know we're all bein' habitually called P-Pasquale; M-Maxine; T-Tick… It stuck for a few weeks, but the names got shorter: P-Pa, M-Max. Eventually little David did learn the alphabet and sounds, but I was still P-Pa.
One day, a visitor overheard her and mistakenly called me Pee Pot with an understandin' smile. Of all the embarrassin' names to be called… I tried to ignore him, but my person and a few others within earshot thought it was cute. All the explainin' in the world couldn't erase what had just been spoken, and more people started callin' me that.
So that was how it started, a new name for an old horse, but it's not over yet. Now, when people hear me bein' called P-pot, they hear anything but that - "who would ever call a nice horse like that Pee Pot?" they're probably thinkin'. I've been called Peacock, Peabody, Teapot, Keypot, B-bop, and more. Good thing they don't need a phone book to find me, huh?
One time, at a show, I got announced as Puh-POE, with the accent on the second syllable, and a silent T like in "depot", like the French folks talk. The worst part was that my rider, forgettin' her number, didn't understand the announcer at all and they had to repeat it a few times. You think that's pretty funny, huh? Nobody really knows how to pronounce or spell it. I reckon that makes it one of a kind, like me. Guess it fits okay after all.
So there y'all have it, and don't ask again, the real story behind my name, or mebbe I should say names.

Be good, and happy trails.
P-pot

closer

 

<