There are millions of dogs named Max, but my Welsh Terrierist was registered as Maxwell Edison. Pretentious, maybe.
My present dog’s previous owners named her Layla after the song Clapton wrote about his wife. She’s a short dog, so if I want to see eye-to-eye with her, she’s “got me on my knees.”
The dog next door is named for Milo Minderbinder. Eh, passable.
A fellow down the block named his Shih Tzuh Domino, for a fortune-telling dame in a Bond novel.
A friend had a Doberman called Atouk for Ringo Starr’s caveman character. Predictable.
I once knew a couple of tomcats named Solshenitzen* and Siddartha. Pretentious, but not fictitious.
*I sense I have misspelled that name. The cat didn’t care, though. He couldn’t read.