Frankenweenie Dogs Name Novels & Stories

Jake asked. “Yes.” Aeden said trying not to laugh. She thought about her two Neapolitan Mastiff’s. A male and female, Apollo and Artemis, they were both pitch black with wrinkles all over their faces and bodies. They sleep on a huge dog bed at the end of her bed and followed her around the house until it was time to go outside and walk the perimeter with her Team. The new guys didn’t quite understand this yet.

"Are you sure she doesn't want to talk to you at all?" 'She doesn't. Didn't even want to ask me the names of my dogs. She just went ahead and named them whatever she wanted. Oreo and Chunky Monkey." He rolled his eyes in disapproval. "My goldfish are now called Tiklu and Piklu, and angelfish are Chunnu and Munnu, if you are interested in knowing. And my horse is Buchkoo. God knows what the hell that means." Aaron burst out laughing. "Must be some Indian snack names. They sound cute."

A dog drawing attention to the fact I have the door open is the last thing we need right now. It gets worse when the dog barks. "Shhhhh," I whisper as loud as possible. Because we all know dogs speak so much English. The dog claws at the edges of the opening. Little white dots on one of her big black paws catch my attention. "Frankie?" The dog keeps digging but there's no doubt in my mind this is Spencer's dog. Frankie found us. "It's Spencer's dog, Frankie." I turn back to Pete and whisper. "Who is Spencer?"

I pressed my lips together, trying hard to hold my laughter as well. “Sorry dad… Ricky ate too slow,” Derek explained before carrying his dog in the crook of his arm. He gave it a soft gentle stroke on the fur before joining us in the car. Ricky, his cute Bernese mountain dog, with black and white furs couldn't help but wag its tail happily and bark cutely at Mr Walter. “Don't you yell at me! Why did you eat so slow?” Mr Walter turned to face the dog as his hands began exploring the driving wheel. Ricky barked again, sticking out its tongue and wagging its tail happily.

While Alan didn’t exactly smile, the slightest flicker at the corner of his mouth suggested I’d sparked something within him, a momentary spark held hostage by his more stoic demeanor. Today’s group was larger, a lively parade of nine dogs eagerly anticipating their turn to explore the world. Alan had us divide the leashes with practiced ease, and I ended up with the middle crew—the dogs who thrived in the company of others: Tinkerbell, a sprightly little thing; Rufio, the ever-enthusiastic tour guide; Waffles, with his goofy charm; and Pickles snugly settled in his elegant stroller. I was half-convinced that Pickles originated from some ancient royal family. As we walked in comfortable sile

(Lexi’s POV) I’m going to die! I’m going to die! My heart was screaming and crying in panic, but before I found myself getting mauled by dogs, Finn put a whistle to his mouth. “Whooee-uueet!” The dogs halted abruptly, hearing probably a familiar whistle sound from their owner. My eyes widened at the different breeds of dogs, but half of their numbers were Golden Retriever and Labrador. For a dog lover, they were adorable, sitting on the ground, looking like they were smiling while panting and waiting for a treat from their owner.

The dogs kept on looking at Jai and he couldn’t stay calm from their gaze. “Um, hi?” Jai greeted them. But they didn’t even flinch. The little girl giggled beside him and started pointing one by one to the dogs around them. “All of them are boys. This is Kiki, he is a Koshi beast. This is Olsen, he is a moonwolf. Lastly, Hugo, he is a Bronzaback Direwolf. He is the boss from these two, but they are very good friends with each other. We are a pact.”

He immediately started licking my face. “What should we name him?” Sienna asked, already scratching behind the puppy’s ears. “We need something strong,” River said. “Something that sounds like a guard dog. Brutus? Thor?” “Those are terrible,” Sienna objected. “What about something farm-related? Shepherd? Ranger?” “Ranger’s not bad—” “What about Clover?” Rain suggested. “Or Barley?” They kept tossing names back and forth while I held the puppy close and felt something warm and messy twist tighter in my chest.

You free to chase the hot dog cart? That’s our code for hitting the jogging trail. “The hot dog cart” is what Marie started calling it when she was pregnant and swore she could sniff out the street vendor from half a mile away. Her daughter’s nickname—Frankie—is short for Fran, but also a subtle nod to her mom’s favorite pregnancy craving. Marie: Fuck YES. 3-year-olds should be on the domestic terrorist list. Meet you in 15. I snort. Frankie must be in rare form today. Glad it’s not my turn.

James and Ben glanced at each other and felt relief. "Arf!" The dog answered, making soft sound and licked Leonard's hands as if he was glad to make a new friend. "Summer. His name is Summer, boss." James repeated and smiled to see that the boss paid attention to the puppy. "Okay. Summer boy. Why are you so small?" The voice was soft now when talking to the dog.