It was in early August and the heat was almost unbearable, particularly standing in the glaring sun on a dusty football field. But you dared not complain; heavily-armored players were running and tackling and straining and, with coaches yelling and cursing, it was most certainly a day not for timid men.

After what seemed to be half of forever, a crusty coach used the last of his wrath to shoo the stragglers off the field and then, in what was a pretty black mood, suggested we drive to his house for a sarsaparilla. Well, I was pretty quiet at first, hoping a drink might cool his fire.

But there I got the shock of my life when, as he opened the front door, the coach grabbed a miniature dachshund and completely morphed. He hoisted the dog to his face, started cooing "baby-talk" and actually kissed the wiggling dog with his lips. That's when I found out Bear Bryant's dachshund was named "Schultz."

Coach swore to me that "dachshunds are undefeated" so after that the doxie parade started in my own life. Just the other day I heard a young couple I adore in our neighborhood had fallen for a cute puppy and they were working with their small children for the proper name. And it reminded me how important it is to give a dog a hardy name where it won't be embarrassed when it runs with the pack through the next-door garden.

Naming a dachshund - as with any breed - is a big thing. Among names considered for the new puppy are Skittles, Vienna, Penny, Tootsie, Schnitzel, Honey, Ron Jeremy, Woof Blitzer, Arf Linkletter, Gretel, Panzie, Fred, Zickzack (German for Zig-Zag) and Wags. The four mighty warriors I have owned have been Mr. Griffin, Ro's Bud, Charli Brown and The Scooter.

We named our first one "Mr. Griffin" in honor of my favorite luncheonette for years, Mrs. Griffin's Footlong Hot Dogs, and the second was "Ro's Bud," a play off my high school days when my nickname was Ro'. The third was a rescue animal I got off Luther's radio show and already was called "Charlie Brown," but we dropped the "e" off the first name when we saw "he" was a "she."

My constant companion these days, The Scooter, was a five-week-old impostor that the kids brought home about midnight one time. You see, his legs grew long in a hurry, it turning out he was only a distant relative of the dachshund family.

As a matter of fact, I once sent $39.95 and a mouth swab to a canine research company to find out his DNA, but they sent the check back, saying the machine would only read "Tilt." By then, "The Scooter" had wiggled his way so deeply in my heart that he had earned his rightful place so not until his journey is complete will the true dachshund line resume.

I've also got a penchant for big labs, and I had about a dozen throughout my early years. The great Southern writer, Lewis Grizzard, named his two after his favorite treats, Catfish and Cornbread, which shows how important it is when a man names his dog.

But, boy, there hasn't ever been a one I haven't loved. A lady named Cheryl Zuccaro put it best one time when she said, "It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are."

It is said that not long ago, up in Athens, Tn., a beautiful collie, magnificently groomed, was tied to the bench in front of the courthouse. A stranger soon approached the man who was sitting beside it. "My oh my, what a magnificent animal! Does your dog bite," and the man said, "Nope."

But as the stranger reached to scratch behind the collie's ear, the dog lunged and darn near took the guy's fingers off. "I thought you said your dog didn't bite!" cried the recoiling stranger, to which the seated man calmly replied, "That ain't my dog."

So as a dachshund puppy brings about a delightful run of memories, I am also reminded my personal favorite is, "Heaven is a place where every dog you ever loved is going to lick your face on the very first day."

I know that's true because I watched Schultz welcome Bear Bryant home late one hot afternoon a long time ago.

royexum@aol.com