Midget was called Ears by the neighbor who was feeding him. We got in the habit of calling him Midget because he was so much smaller than all of his lanky littermates. Because this name is so disrespectful, I tried to rename him Ernest, after a friend of mine who has done more to help animals than anyone else I know. But the name just wouldn't stick so we went back to calling him Midget.

He is an exceptionally loving little dog. He always wants to be nearby and always insists on cuddling at night. But no one else would ever know how sweet he is. If a stranger comes near the house, Midget barks, growls, bites, and carries on as long as they are in his sight. By "stranger", I mean anyone who has not lived in the house for at least six months.

In the spring of 2000, I was at work when I was told that Midget had been shot. Apparently, he and Skippy had left the yard and wandered into the trailor park next door to our house at the time. At about 11am, a shot was heard and Midget and Skippy came running to the house. Skippy wasn't hit, but hid behind furniture, trembling, for about 2 days. Midget was sprayed with shotgun pellets. He had been hit in about 10 different places. He looked awful when I got home. He could barely get up and he had bloody spots all over him. The vet said his wounds weren't serious and by the next day he was running around, as spastic as always. After that incident, I started seriously looking for a new home.