When Little Ernie Dickens was a year-and-a-half old, we went to New Hope Animal Rescue to see about a young female Golden Retriever who was, to our disappointment, on the way out the door with her new family.

The staff then introduced us to a three-month-old pup birthed by a seven-pound Chihuahua, sire unknown. He was already three pounds six ounces, but we thought, “How big could he possibly get and also, didn’t we come in to meet a Golden?”

I recently took his picture with Google Lens, which said Bruno is, “Chihuahua and American Staffordshire Terrier.”

Which might explain why he is, at just under two years old, tilting the scale at twenty-five pounds.

Bruno and Ernie get along great, despite Ernie’s cranky Dachshund disposition. Bruno is, after all, Ernie’s adopted kid.

And Bruno is sweet as pie, although a little bit dumb, which we hope he will grow out of. The important thing is, what Bruno wants, almost more than anything else, is to please us.

Ernie is not like that. Not even a little bit. One might think Bruno is trying to compensate. He is that solicitous, which is why we thought house training would be a breeze.

We’re almost there. The only time Bruno has an accident is after failure to complete the morning walk assignment. My workaround is to feed them, and take them right back out so Bruno can check the box.

I was a little slow this morning. Bruno pooped in the living room. Linda and I stood over by the TV, asking if he would like to come over and discuss it.

He hid under the dining table, and would not come out. There would be no spanking, nor harsh scolding, and he knows it. Bruno was ashamed.

When we weren’t looking, he snuck into the bedroom. Linda found him with one of her skirts, purloined from a laundry basket, rolled up in a ball under his head.

She kissed his innocent face. He slinked into the kitchen, penitent, wanting to make up.

I told him, “No, buddy. You’re not in trouble. You’re my furry little hot water bottle.”