Life With A Paris - The Adventure Continues     "It's your dog, *you* think of a name." "He's our puppy, B'Elanna, we should think of a name together." B'Elanna groaned with frustration. "Tom, we only have a few weeks until the baby arrives! We should be concentrating on choosing a name for her, not some flea bitten mongrel that you've conned me into keeping!" Tom lay on the floor at his wife's feet, softly stroking the puppy's tummy as they spoke. "The baby is still a few weeks off, the puppy is here now. We have to name him before he starts thinking his name is *Dog*." "Then call him Dog and be done with it so we can get back to our list of baby names." Tom sighed over-dramatically, and flopped to his back, his feet nudging under his wife's knees on the sofa. "How about Barclay?" B'Elanna cringed. "I'm as much in favour of our honorary crew member as the next person, Tom, but no." "Okay, how about Chakotay?" Tom grinned, mercifully out of the range of his wife's sight. "Funny, Paris." "Maquis?" B'Elanna scrunched up her face, methodically shifting to her side to stare down at him. "Are you kidding? Who would seriously name their dog Maquis? If you want to do this, can't you at least be serious about it?" "You could help you know." "You don't want to hear my suggestions." "Fine. Spot." B'Elanna's growl of distaste answered Tom immediately. "Posh." "Do you *want* your dog to be ridiculed? At least think of the baby, she's going to have to one day tell her friends what her dog's name is, and you don't want it to be Posh." "Ralph?" "Boring." "English?" "After an archaic language? I don't think so." "Buddy?" "Tom, please!" "Well, what do you want to name him?" "He's your dog, you choose." Tom bit back a cry of frustration as his fingers went up to worry his already receding hairline. One day he was going to be bald, and it would be *her* fault! He calmed his voice with a marked effort, and forced a serene smile onto his face. "Do you have any suggestions, dear?" he spoke slowly, drawing out each word to maintain his facade of control. "No." "You're not helping me." "I told you, name him yourself." "Fine, how about Blue?" "After the 20th century song, or television program?" "Pick one, I don't care." "It's not right for him." "Barney." "Now you're being sarcastic, Tom." "Why, no one else will ever recognize it as the name of that purple dinosaur on that kids program." "If you're not going to be serious, we should just stop now." She's pregnant. She's emotional. She doesn't know what she wants. Calm.  Calm. Calm. Oh, to hell with calm! "B'Elanna, what name do *you* want? You obviously have one chosen, so just tell me would you?" She turned her eyes to meet Tom's, reaching down to lift the puppy onto the sofa with her, cuddling him into her arms. As she began stroking its soft ears, she smiled down into Tom's frustrated face. "Delta." "Excuse me?" "Delta. Think about it, Tom. One day soon we're going to be home. Our relationship started in the Delta Quadrant. Our honeymoon was on the Delta Flyer. Our child will be born a Delta Quadrant Native. I think it's only fitting to name the puppy after a place that was forced upon us, and then grew on us." Tom collapsed back onto the floor, wishing his head would hit just a little harder. Why couldn't she have said that an hour ago when this all started?  "Fine. Delta it is." B'Elanna smiled triumphantly, and placed the puppy back down onto the floor. "He needs to go for his walk now, Tom." "I did it last time!" "He *is* your dog." Swallowing curses of frustration, Tom latched a newly replicated leash onto the dog's collar and headed for the door. Maybe a half hour in the hydroponics bay was just what he needed -- at least there no one could hear him scream. As the door hissed shut behind him, B'Elanna began to laugh silently at first, before erupting into full out gales of laughter. Sometimes Tom was just too easy. End.