I adopted Ziggy in July 1995 from a small rescue organization in New York named Mighty Mutts. It was founded by John Contino of Brooklyn. who rescued as many stray dogs as possible off the streets, and drove around every night to feed those he could not catch. (Today, John operates Mighty Mutts from New Jersey, where he lives with the unadoptables.)

Ziggy was approximately a year old then, his coat was grey-and-black brindle, with a black saddle, similar to a German shepherd’s. Technically, he’s considered a Lurcher and, indeed, his structure, gait, and personality show his greyhound blood. To see him run and fly over park benches just for the fun of it in his youth was awesome. As he aged, his face revealed shepherd characteristics and his body developed the breed’s common, progressive back- and hind-leg deterioration.

He was very social and was delighted when friends would visit us in New York, especially Gianfranco, il mio compagno. The more the merrier. I always promised him we’d have a second dog.

Among his favorite dogs in our neighborhood were the min pins. Although I considered this breed as a companion for him, my heart was set on one of the rat terrier breeds. While researching the lively, acrobatic white ratters, I discovered the black-and-tan Manchester terriers and fell in love. In April, good fortune brought us little Grace who perfectly fulfilled both of our wishes. Her registered name is “Scarlet’s Amazing Grace,” and she comes from loving, caring breeders in Virginia. People like you, it seems from the stories your site tells.

Zig was pleased to finally have a house buddy in his old age. He looked quite content when I'd come home to find them both sleeping—him, parked on his dog bed near her puppy crate. The three of us had a couple of good months together and really enjoyed our daily morning walks along the East River. He didn’t even mind being left alone when Grace came to work with me sometimes, maybe knowing he’d be too tired for that.

However, all of a sudden in June, despite being in remarkably good shape and spirit for his 14 years, Zig’s condition unexpectedly worsened. And as I’ve witnessed too many times, when the real end sets in, it happens more rapidly than we’d like. We were very lucky to discover a veterinarian who makes house calls: She provided us tremendous support that last week, when even leaving our building would have been too much exertion for Zig. As we waited for the blood work results, he continued to decline and, on Friday June 13, the vet and I  put Zig to sleep in the comfort of his home. Insuring he was cared for with dignity to the very end, I accompanied him (as I did for Milton, the first dog of my adult life, 13 years ago) to the historic Hartsdale Pet Cemetery and Crematory, where he was cremated. Ashes to ashes.   

He was a great dog who loved everybody, and who was loved not only by me but a large circle of people he captured with his engaging, sweet and funny character: neighbors and friends, coworkers at my freelance job, green market folks, and even people I didn’t know but whom we’d pass on the street.