It was a three hour drive, and the whole time she sat in the back seat facing the back, until finally, the last half-hour, she lay down. Not once did she whimper, not once did she bark. Neither did she respond to her name.
Over the next two or three days, it was apparent that she didn't respond to Lulu. But that had always been her name! She was a rescue, yes, but was rescued by her breeder, so I knew her history and her name. I sat down and looked her in the eyes. "Lulu," I said, "if that's not your name, then you have to let me know what it is." Then I waited. Nothing. I tried thinking of different names. Nothing felt right, but Lulu felt all wrong. She wasn't a Lulu. A while later, I said to her, "You have to tell me your name, or if you don't know it, then you have to tell me what you want it to be." Still nothing. About 1/2 hour later, I went to call her, "Come her, Lulu!" What came out, though, was "Come here, Zoë!" Zoë? Where did that come from? But as soon as she heard the name, she turned her head, jumped up, and came bounding to me, wiggling all over.
Zoë it is, then, and she never fails to respond to her name.