 His name was Dick. He was a greenish-yellow fellow who enjoyed pulling the only hair or two left on my grandfather's bald head, raising seven kinds of hell and slinging his bell when my grandmother sneezed, running around on the floor under a spread-out sheet of newspaper, and biting me. He was personable, bright, and eventually went to his just reward in a toothpaste box placed in the bottom of the garden. I find I miss him.