A rose by any other name...etc

From all the stories that my mother has told me about my childhood...well um I guess I was pretty imaginative...maybe even a bit quirky.
When I was very little, we're talkin' 2-3 years old. I played a game where I would fall to the ground dying. I was a dead duck, shot by a mean cowboy. The only way to bring me back to life was to feed me a dead duck pill. Duh, makes sense to me. My mother always saved me. I mean, who wants a dead duck in their living room? No matter how cute and little. I also liked to pretend that I was a puppy. My mom hated it when I would lick her ankles. She still hates it for that matter...weird.
When I was only 3 years old, so take that into consideration, okay? I had a baby doll. I loved my dolly very much. I wanted her to have the most beautiful name befitting a beloved family member. I named her "Manure". Remember when I told you I was only 3? It sounded lovely to me. Almost a melodic sound to the name. My sister came upon me rocking my little Manure and singing her a little manurey lullaby. She was horrified.She rushed downstairs to find our Mother and to tell her what I had named my baby. Mom came up to my room and explained to me that maybe Manure wasn't quite the right name for my beloved doll. "It means horsey poop." "You don't want to call your dolly horsey poop, do you?" Well of course I didn't want to call my doll horsey poop. But I guess my memory wasn't quite developed because I reverted back to calling her Manure a couple of days later. It still has a nice ring to it....don'tcha think?