So Stuffy and Fluffy join the ranks of Philip and Oliver the mini horses, big horses Chalkie and Bryn, the Welsh pony who has the ridiculous name of Bow Bells Safari Sunrise (he prefers Sunny) , big sheep Mindy and Minty, Lark the goat and the four chooks who have no names at all except one.
She's called May because wherever they go she's always coming fourth. May the fourth? I suspect I have watched too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory.
We did have another named chook ... Houston, as in "Houston, we have problem". She was always in the wrong place. The final wrong place we found her in was the horse trough, and hens can't swim.
These names I have little problem with, as none of them come when they are called so I never bother calling them.
The dogs, however ... why do I have three whose names end in "o"? Mungo, Hugo and Milo are generally in trouble of one depth or another and I frequently have to call or berate the wee monsters.
So often have I mixed the names up and gone through all of them, plus some extras, till I get the right one that I have decided to amalgamate the lot and call them, collectively, Milungo.
It seems to work on the whole, except for Bunnie who has gone deaf and is still sulking a little because she thinks no-one is talking to her.
Actually it's not the first time I've had a mob of animals with a uni-name. My first herd of goats all had nice, neat, hand-picked names but the only one who would oblige me by coming when she was called was Freda.
When Freda came running everyone else would come too ... not out of loyalty to her but because Freda usually ran towards food. I ended up with a herd of goats who all thought they were called Freda.
Generations went by and long after the original Freda was pushing up cabbages in the vege garden I still had goats who would only answer to the name of Freda.
At least Freda's not an embarrassing name to be shouting in public. Bunnie is. Especially in the rough, tough neighbourhood where the small fluffy chihuahua once escaped and ran riot, frolicking amongst the pitbulls.
I was desperate to get her back before one of them inhaled her. She was just as desperate to make friends with as many large menacing dogs as she could, flitting from property to property like a four-legged, furry, blonde butterfly.
She showed no shame when caught and has not mended her ways, although I have given up calling her at all now since she can't hear a thing, and bellowing "Bunnie!" at a dog that's ignoring me just makes me look silly.
Another name I was reluctant to use in public was Dainty. Mostly since it was attached to one of the ugliest, least dainty animals imaginable. Dainty was a horse. And not just any horse.
Dainty looked like she was made up of several horses, none matching. Her head was large, her legs short and bowed, her knees pointed in and her feet pointed out. She looked like a pantomime horse that had seen far, far better days.
Dainty was inclined to run out of brakes, and tearing past people while hauling on the reins and shouting "Whoa Dainty" is not something I will forget in a hurry.
But the prize for the name that raised the most eyebrows goes to a pony that once belonged to a family member ... when the pony arrived the youngster was asked what he would like to call it. Without hesitation he christened his pony Harold the Giraffe.
So Harold the Giraffe she was.
