A Frank Opinion on Frank Names
If you yell “Frank!” at our farm, seventeen heads turn—only two of them belong to humans. Here is our official stance on celebrity sausage aliases.
We did not set out to name every dachshund after encased meats or mid-century crooners. It happened the way most herd decisions happen: one volunteer said “Franks Sinatra” as a joke, and the name stuck harder than mustard on a white shirt.
The rule now is simple: if the pun makes you groan, it qualifies. Bratney Spears handles PR for the east field. Grill-ary Clinton refuses to acknowledge shortcuts between fence posts. Nobody is allowed to call them “weenies” during official tours—we save that for the comment cards.
Frankly, my dear, we do give a brat. We give treats, belly rubs, and very serious attention to who gets which nickname on the chalkboard. If you have a better pun, the suggestion box is next to the ketchup.