Pixel

He could have been named Ethernet. For years the plan — hatched by a lifelong computer nerd — was that any future dog would earn a tech-y name. Wiser heads prevailed, and when a very small creature entered the picture the choice made itself: Pixel, the smallest unit there is. All twelve pounds of him.

Pixel did not so much get adopted as arrive. On the morning of March 6, 2024, minutes from leaving for the airport, his future person heard a commotion in the hallway of his second-floor San Antonio apartment. There, stranded and gamely trying to let himself out, was a rugrat of a puppy. The puppy turned, clocked him, and bolted straight over. The hunt for an owner turned up no one — the little man had chosen his home, and his home agreed.

And stoic he is. Where other dogs quake at thunder, Pixel could not care less; he almost never barks, almost never frets — the one crack in the armor is being left alone. Otherwise he is the self-appointed welcoming committee of San Antonio's coffee shops, working the room one freely-given kiss at a time. He runs on apple slices, plays fetch on strictly his own schedule, and recharges in a nest of balled-up blankets. Enemies are few but firmly held: squirrels, and poodles.