Let’s say Germany conquers Poland. As an early settler, you’re awarded a choice Polish twink with a mess of honey-colored hair atop his blossoming head which falls over his kind blue eyes and covers his ears darkly and softly with ringlets. What do you name your house Pole?
This wild foal skips up to you and says he’s King of the Horses, but too young to rule. He wants YOU to become king and defend horsekind against snakes, puddles, and sudden noises. But first, there’s one thing you must do: kiss the foal on his round little snout. Do you do it?
If you know someone like this, call them “Hane,” “Hen,” or “Gale.” Those are native English words from Indo-European roots meaning ‘singer’, and all three occur in bird names: hane (“rooster”), hen, and nightingale. Hane is male, hen female, gale unisex.
Earlier my friend who believes in ghosts said a window in his house kept coming open. I said, “It’s probably the springs. You just gotta lock it.” He said, “That doesn’t make sense.” So I said, “Then what does make sense?”, and he looked at me solemnly and said, “Oh, you know.”
“You’re NOT English. You’re from an English-speaking country founded by English people. How dare you talk about your native language.”
Why are some English people like this
Fun fact: “horse” comes from the Proto-Indo-European for “runner,” *ḱr̥sós. It took thousands of years to supplant *h₁éḱwos as the default word for horse, but it survived all that time. I like to think it began as a cutesy word, an ancient form of doggo talk.
Incredible that “now” didn’t change pronunciation even slightly for 6,000 years straight, from PIE down to Early Modern English, at which point it got obliterated by the Great Vowel Shift