Thank you, sir, for not killing me.

People love hearing this story when I tell it in person. Who knows if it’ll have the same effect in text, but here goes.

My dog’s name is Edgar. Most people, upon hearing the name, furrow their brow and respond with something like “Edgar? What kind of name is Edgar?” I guess in their mind’s eye they were expecting something more along the lines of Princess or Twinkie or Poofles.

But I know it’s a good name, because I’m still alive.

Back in my old apartment I was walking all four-point-nothing pounds of my Edgar down to the mailbox one afternoon. Between me and my destination was one of those crap-your-pants scary biker guys you see in movies. The kind that tattoos words like “LUV” and “MOM” on their knuckles. Where his skin wasn’t covered in tattoos it was red and cracked by the sun. He was head to toe dressed in hard black leather and shiny silver spikes. He had a patriotic bandana tied over his bald head. Each of his boots was bigger than your toilet.

I was about 70% sure this guy was going to eat me, but crazy biker dudes can smell fear and I knew if I crossed the street to avoid him or turned and ran I would only be making myself more delicious for him. I decided the best thing to do would be to just walk passed him and not make eye contact. Surely this bastion of masculinity would not deign to waste words on lesser life forms such as myself and my little froo-froo dog.

I was wrong. He looked directly at me and asked, in exactly the voice I expected he’d have: “What’s your dog’s name, man?”

I don’t remember if my reply was “Edgar” or “Edgar, sir” but I must have got the idea across. For a moment I’d thought I’d offended him. He looked angry. I half expected him to reach down and grab me by the shirt, growling something about how his old man’s name is Edgar you son of a bitch.

That’s not what happened, though. He just nodded once in curt approval and said, “That’s a good name for a dog.”

Then he was done with me. I waddled on my unworthy way and collected my mail. By the time Edgar and I returned that way, he had left.

So yeah, there are people who turn their noses up at my dog’s name, but I sleep soundly every night knowing it was well-chosen. It saved my life.