Hernando de Soto was once asked why he'd named his two dogs Marx and Engels. "Because they're hairy and have no respect for private property." It was the work of a moment, then, upon adopting the handsome young gentleman at right this Sunday, and finding out that he was a) very funny, b) capable of holding his liquids, c) interested to an impeachable degree in the opposite sex (both human and non), that the only serviceable name was Kingsley. The "Sir" has already been earned.
For those of you in the New York City area so inclined to adopt a pet, may I direct your attention to Abandoned Angels? Run by two devoted women — Dolores and Ellen — this organization has been exemplary in rescuing orphaned cocker spaniels and finding them either temporary foster homes or permanent ones like mine. I don't mean to fiddle on your heart strings overmuch, but Kingsley had a rough case of kennel cough and "cherry eye" (accounting for the redness you can still see), two highly treatable conditions which nevertheless had him slated for death. Abandoned Angels intervened, I made a phone call or two, and now he's got prewar digs in a rather posh area of Brooklyn Heights.
If you're looking to take up that noblest of callings and become a pet owner, I suggest getting a rescue dog like the King. These guys haven't got it easy, and their time on earth can be pitiably short.