I used to want one of those dog tags they sometimes advertise in the back of bike magazines. Seemed like a good idea to have my name and my wife's phone number so that paramedics would know who to call if I ran into a tree or got taken out by some dumbass in a Hummer.
Unlike my son, my daughter's still young enough to listen when I speak, so she paid attention when I casually mentioned a time or two that, one of these days, I should order a dog tag.
So she bought me one.
She went to the grocery store with her mom and noticed one of those vending machines that will engrave a little metal plate with your pet's information. Dad wants a dog tag, Dad gets a dog tag.
Not exactly what I had in mind, but it works.
Fortunately, it's not shaped like a bone.