With eleven cats of various descriptions, depending on what day it is, seven sheep, and one dog, I could have sworn I had enough pets. By gal’s sister begged to differ. She just had to give me a Chihuahua for a Christmas present. His name is Bandelaro. "Gosh," I said, when forced to accept the non generosity, "that’s the kind of gift that has been known to get people hanged." Nonetheless my sarcasm did no good and the little fellow got a home.

He was having a tough time adjusting to the new surroundings. He missed his mommy, although Lord only knows why. Maybe that’s why god is dog spelled backward. When I put him out to do his business he’d turn around at the door insisting it was too cold outside and want to come back in.

"Alright," I said, "but if you mess in the house you’re gonna get your nose rubbed in it and thrown outside."

At first he didn’t believe me. I would return from my walk and be stoking the fireplace when I’d notice I had stepped in doggie mess. I said..., well never mind what I said. Not being one to lie to small animals, I had to do what I told him I’d do if he do-dooed, and he did do-doo, so I did do.

Three or four days of this activity and the Chihuahua was beginning to decide he didn’t like me, with some justification. He was laying on the love seat one day when a friend came to see me. We were commenting on how big his ears were and trying to decide what new name to give him. Radar ears came to mind for one handle.

"Naw, he looks more like a little rat," I said, "I think I’ll call him Raton (little rat)."

The Chihuahua gave me an ugly look when I called him Raton. He seemed to be thinking, "I don’t call you Gordo (fat)."

I laughed and said, "I’m just joking Bandelaro." He jumped off the couch to come leaping into my lap.

"The name is Bandelaro, senor," he seemed to say, wagging his tail.