The little skipperke dog Brinca is an unfailing source of good cheer -- always leaping eagerly around my legs when I come home, gasping excitedly as she greets me. While I sit in my corner reading she likes to sit quietly with me; it takes her a few bounces before she can jump up on my lap. When Brinca is in the pen, I notice that she always sits facing the house, watching and waiting. As I open the pen door, she trembles and huddles as if injured and fearful of being neglected any longer. At these moments, she makes herself look even smaller than her 12-pound self. She makes little wimpering noises, and as I let her out of the pen, her relief erupts in an excited squeal. Normally while walking she acts like a large dog, making her squeaky growl at dogs in the distance. She walks with a bouncing pompadour gait, her head held high. When she and Janie break into a run she likes to run in formation, shoulder to shoulder with the hound. For some reason this irritates Janie, who nips at Brinca to keep her at a distance. The gait Brinca uses in her prowl-and-sniff mode is comical: her nose skims over the ground as she makes random turns and loops. Her legs hardly seem to bend when she uses this gait like Charlie Chaplain walking; on four legs. She looks like a miniature wild boar, with her tapered snout skimming the ground, her barrel chest, and her growth of coarse fur about her shoulders. Her legs are delicately shaped, with the bottom half like rabbit paws and the top half like chicken drumsticks. They are thin and supple yet produce lots of power. She is capable of great bursts of speed, much faster than the hound Janie. When she jumps in the water, her legs flex like duck legs on the upstroke. She also has precision balance: I have seen her scramble along a thirty-foot fallen tree without taking a moment to test her bearings.