Yorkshire Terrier

The Yorkshire terrier doesn't know it's small. No one has told it, and if anyone tried, it wouldn't believe them anyway. In that not-quite-three-kilogram, silky little body lives a self-assurance a Great Dane wouldn't be ashamed of — and a courage that makes it challenge a dog five times its size in the deep conviction that the clash will end in its favor. It usually ends with you scooping it up in your arms, and it feels like the winner all the same.

That self-assurance has, moreover, solid working-class credentials. The Yorkie wasn't born in the drawing rooms — it was born in the roar and dust of the spinning mills of Yorkshire, where, during the Industrial Revolution, Scottish workers brought their small, tenacious terriers. Their task was a single and not at all elegant one: to make sure that rats didn't run rampant in the factories and mines — and patrolling the dark halls and corridors called for courage several sizes larger than the dog. Only later did the most brilliant social climb in canine history take place: Victorian ladies saw that gleaming, steel-and-gold coat, and the mill ratcatcher moved, in a single generation, onto the silk cushions of the drawing rooms. It moved in its entirety, though — character and all. And that's why your elegant little dog with the show-ring hairdo can today, with absolute seriousness, hunt down a fly, a shadow, or your slipper — and be sincerely proud of itself.

Because the Yorkie is character packed in a carry-on size. It rules from the highest available cushion like a little monarch, greets guests with a sound bulletin included in the price, and treats any attempt to ignore it as a minor misunderstanding to be put right at once. Grooming sessions and bows it endures with the dignity of a ruler who understands that the crown carries obligations. And the funniest thing is that all this cheek has another side: a heart decidedly too big for that small body. The Yorkie attaches itself completely, follows you step for step, and can guard you with the devotion of a dog ten times its size. And that's exactly the touching thing about this breed: so much courage, so much character, so much love — in a creature in fact so fragile that it needs protecting more than it seems. Because the Yorkie has within it the spirit of a lion locked in a body that really is easy to harm.

And here begins something most easily disregarded with small dogs, yet of enormous importance: in a dog weighing under three kilograms every gram is a force to be reckoned with. A “small” piece of cheese, for us literally a bite, can be for a Yorkie the equivalent of a sizeable meal — a few such “trifles” a day and its slender figure melts away before your eyes. On top of that come the teeth: in so cramped a little mouth tartar and trouble come very easily, and dental problems are one of the breed's most frequent ailments.

The small body has one more feature: it runs at very high revolutions and has practically no reserves. That's why the Yorkie — especially a puppy or a tiny one at the lower weight limit — is prone to hypoglycemia, a sudden drop in blood sugar. It's a genuinely dangerous condition, but easy to handle once you know about it: the warning signs are trembling, lethargy, and an unsteady gait, and first aid is a little glucose paste or honey rubbed into the gums and a phone call to the vet.

Because the Yorkshire terrier will give you one of the most disproportionate things in the world: an amount of heart, character, and loyalty that utterly refuses to fit its size. This tiny dog will defend you, make you laugh, and rule your home with the grace of a dictator in miniature — and not for a moment will it think itself too small for the job.

Your role is simple and tender at once: to look after that fragile little body as well as it looks after you. Because with a little care the Yorkie stays for a long time — a dozen or more years of small, noisy, enormous love that, to the very end, will remain deeply convinced that it is the biggest thing here.