Why Renard?

After much prompting from Lewis, who finds this story 'funnier than that time in the east grove with the peanut butter pine cones', I reveal the misted and epic origins of my kit-hood and my redundant name.

My mother was a good loving mother, but one thing she was not, was imaginative. At one point before my birth, she met a Goose from northern New Brunswick, who spoke pretty much no English and learned plenty of interesting French swearwords. She also learned how to say 'Fox' in French.

The first four kits in the litter were named John, Luke, Matthew Mark and Mary Margaret and when it came time to name her youngest kit, she'd run out of names (not having read much of the Bible, it seems) so she named me Renard James Fox. Which is literally Fox James Fox. It sounds like some sort of cheesy spy name when you say it that way and it's really entertaining when speaking to native French speakers.

Like the time Marcel Tortue, an eminent playwright, came to the forest. Being the Public Service Fox, I was in charge of greeting him and showing him around. Our first meeting went like this:

Me: Hello, Mister Tortue, welcome to The Forest. My name is Renard, and I've been asked to show you around.
Tortue: Come now, there's no need to be so formal, what's your first name?
Me: Uh... Renard.
Tortue: No, your FIRST name. I know your family name is Renard, I can see the bushy tail, but what's your first name?
Me: My first name IS Renard. My last name is Fox.
Tortue: So... your name is Fox Fox?
Me: No my name is Renard J. Fox.
Tortue: Fox Jay Fox? I hope you didn't legally change your name to that just to be 'interesting'.
Me: No, My mother named me.
Tortue: I'm so sorry...

Lewis still sometimes puts a bowl on his back, gets a fake french accent, totters up to me and goes, "I'm so sorry."