In 1985, I drew a portrait of my Yorkshire Terrier, Jeremy, using conte crayons, chalk, and colored pencil.
Jeremy was a beautiful dog. He was affectionate and cuddly, yappy and eccentric. As a puppy, his empty food bowl proved to be both bed and toilet. His favorite snack food were 'tootsie rolls' from the cat's litter box; his favorite hobby chasing dogs and cats 10 times his size.
Jeremy wrestled with his 'species' issues. His role models were human, cat, and poodle. Housebreaking was a challenge that only my toy poodle, Princess, proved capable of doing, as Jeremy followed her everywhere, even to the newspapers.
Jeremy survived both my marriages, living until he was 14 years old, the last two years in slow motion. When he could no longer eat, I drove him to the Veterinarian, against the wishes of my son, Brian, then nine years old.
When Dr. Fischer explained the merciful act, he asked Brian if he understood. My son, tears streaming, spat out, "Dr. Kervorkian!" and demanded a casket. The kindly doctor provided a shoe box.
A technician brought in the injection as three-year-old Joey nervously skipped around the room. As per his request, Brian held Jeremy when he took his last breath.
Later, in our backyard, Brian helped dig Jeremy's grave. As Joey and I prayed, Brian whispered, "There is no God!" and we lay Man's Best Friend to rest.
Jeremy was a loving dog. My favorite memories are of Jeremy curled up on my lap, on the chests of both my ex-husbands, and cuddling with my sons, the other dogs, the cats.
Jeremy, the ultimate Yorkie, lives forever in our hearts.