poodled

There's a debate between E and I over who our childhood dog--a beautiful, well-mannered, cream-colored standard poodle--was named for: Jackson Browne or Michael Jackson. I claim the former. When I ask my mom, a woman who catalogues the dates of major life events infallibly, she won't answer. She generally doesn't live in the past. When I ask Dad, I phrase it strategically: "You named Jackson after Jackson Browne, right?" because Dad has a history of giving answers that appear in or somehow repeat the question.

I don't know why it's such an issue, and probably it isn't even so much for E. I know she doesn't care much, but humors me when I bring it up. I have this insecurity about being right, and in instances in which I'm convinced I'm right, I rarely allow the issue to die until I'm proven right. So, it comes down to an old folk-rocker-alleged-wife-beater to the King-of-Pop-alleged-child-molester.

The question I probably should be asking my parents is why they deemed either one of these men a fitting figure to name our dog after.