We got Rascal in 1996; he was the cutest puppy ever, a little white furball. We'd stopped in at a pet shop and there he was and Sarah cried the crocodile tears, and we had to buy him. The very next week the pet shop was raided and they found dead and dying dogs and very sick animals and the pet shop owner went to jail over it. As we walked out of the pet shop, Sarah carrying her new dog, she said "His name is Rascal."
That was pretty psychic because he was a rascal if ever there was one. He never comes when called, to this day. He ran away from me, he chewed up the house, he barks if a car drives down the street. Well, he used to, now he can't hear worth a darn, which has made our life quieter. He sure was a good watch dog, though.