How farmers pick the perfect name for a loyal working dog: Kem Ormond

Kem Ormond reckons the odds are pretty high that one of these dogs is called Jack. Photo / Paul Rickard

The Country’s Kem Ormond gets in behind the reasoning of how farmers name their dogs.

OPINION

I bet there’s a farmer out there with a dog called Jess, Jack, or Patch.

And it wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

Farmers tend to name dogs in ways that are practical, meaningful, and often rooted in tradition.

It’s rarely about what’s trendy; it’s about what works.

When you’re out in the paddock or halfway across a field, you need a name you can shout, that a dog can hear and know you mean business.

That’s why one-syllable names like Fly, Meg, Rex, or Spot are so common.

They’re clear, sharp, and to the point.

But it’s not just about volume, it’s about personality.

A dog with quick feet might be called Dash, Skip or Dart.

One that sticks close like a shadow might, well, end up named Shadow.

A dark-coated pup might be Midnight, and one with a patchy coat? You guessed it: Patch.

I’ve met more than one Blue Heeler named Blue or Bluey.

There’s even a tradition in some places of passing a name down through generations.

One farmer I knew gave every new pup the same name as the last one.

You’d hear him shout for Jack, and you’d know it might be the fourth or fifth Jack in a line of loyal work companions.

And then there’s the humour because most farmers have plenty of that.

I once met a bloke who named all his dogs after whiskey brands.

Imagine yelling Glenfiddich across the paddock.

Then you’ve got your Scamps and Rascals, names for dogs with big personalities who maybe don’t always listen when they should and seem to get into trouble.

For those who breed working dogs, names often carry heritage.

A pup might be named after its parents, Jetstar, for example, if its father was Jet.

I once read an article that suggested the “proper” way to name a dog was to make a pun or portmanteau of the parents’ names.

So, if Muffin and Sarah had a pup, it might get called Sally Lunn!

At the heart of it, though, the name just has to fit.

After some time spent in the fields together, through mud, rain, sunshine, and early mornings, the right name seems to settle naturally.

Still, you do wonder if some dogs ever dreamed of grander titles.

Maybe Rin Tin Tin, or just Tin Tin, Lassie, Toto, Clifford, or Marley.

But for most farm dogs, there’s a quiet nobility in a simple name shouted across a wide field.

And if you’ve ever lived with an unusual name yourself, as I have, you’ll know that in the end, it’s not the name that defines you, but the life you lead while wearing it.