I adopted Jeremiah when he was 9; he died at age 14. Pretty good for a St. Bernard mix. “The sainted Jeremiah,” as one friend called him, bonded with me from the first day: My house was so much nicer than the shelter; I served better food, too. Another friend said he considered us “a couple.” And, true, we went just about everywhere together and even fought like an old married couple. I miss those battles of wits; I just plain miss Jeremiah!