We have a dog.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save me the story about how you/ your husband/friend/cousin/brother has a dog named Tucker. You can almost see it on stranger's faces: they say, "You have such a cute baby. What is his name?" I say, "Tucker" and then they exclaim, "My brother has a dog named Tucker!" And then nearly immediately, if they have any sense at all, their face contorts and they realize that this kinship that they were trying to foster has been completely destroyed because they just told me that my son's name is great for A DOG.

Moments after the attack.

I'm not really upset. It is mostly amusing to me. I guess I am the only one who keeps it to myself that when you tell me your Aunt Betty died, I don't immediately say, "I had a cat named Betty."

And, it turns out Tucker is a great name for both a dog and a boy because our non-dog Tucker likes to tear apart foam footballs just like his canine named friends. The bad news is we have to buy another football. The good news is I don't have to watch Hudson play both sides of a football game where the sole goal is to score as many touchdowns as possible by knocking down his littlest fan.

Evidence.