By Jane Larkworthy
We lost our standard poodle, Remy, this summer. Like every dog owner I know, we loved her more than we could imagine and, fine, we treated her like our third child. We brought her everywhere with us, permissible or not (thank you, Jacob’s Pillow gala), and filled the house with more leashes, coats, and squeaky toys than one dog could ever need.
When Remy was about four, I decided to pull a Wegman, dressed her in a jacket and hat and photographed her. The whole process took less than two minutes; I would gently repeat “Stay…” until I got the shot, then plied her with her favorite freeze-dried chicken treats once I did. It probably wasn’t her favorite way to spend two minutes, but she did aim to please. Dogs have a way of innately knowing this.
This grew into a vast portfolio including nearly every jacket, hat and pair of sunglasses I owned. (And thus began @myhigherstandard, her Instagram feed.) With her intense amber eyes that bore into your soul, she cut quite the figure, dressed in an epaulet-adorned cape and tophat, or a crocheted poncho and Carly Simon-type floppy hat.
I’ll admit I experienced a certain smugness when someone showed me pics of their lab or Yorkie or Havanese dressed in a doggie raincoat complete with hood. I’d then whip out my phone and tap the shot of Remy, in profile, looking ever the dignified sea captain in a Jil Sander winter jacket and shipman’s wool hat. Most were impressed, if not slightly hurt by the competition.
One evening, at a friend’s house, I came upon a charcoal sketch that our neighbor, the painter Shawn Fields, had done of his wife, Kenzie. It was a stunning sketch of whimsy, where Kenzie’s hair seemed to sprout above her head into the heavens, her profile seemingly unaware of the activity taking place above.
I was blown away. I’d never thought about having Remy’s portrait done before (maybe because I already had dozens of them filling up my iPhone), nor did the idea of cloning or taxidermy interest us, as magical as we believed she was. But Shawn’s sketch prompted me to enquire whether he’d ever do one of Remy. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a pet in Shawn’s work, but if he was strictly a people painter, maybe I could let him in on the fact that Remy kind of was a person to us.
No matter. Shawn agreed, and I gave him a photo of our poodle in that sea captain outfit. He and Kenzie came by to inspect the empty wall in our kitchen that had been begging for some legit work of art. Two weeks later, Kenzie texted me a photo of Shawn with the painting he had finished and was ready to install in our home.
“Wait!” I texted back. “We haven’t even seen his sketch yet!”
But this artist knew he’d captured her, and, boy, did he ever. Shawn’s use of negative space, which created her jacket and outlined her cap, was masterful in its simplicity. And her expression only lacked a pipe hanging from her mouth (even I put my limitations on what I would or wouldn’t allow my child to do). Moreover, the expression on most people’s faces when they enter our kitchen and look up to see a giant standard poodle presiding over the room is, well, priceless. Now more than ever.Shawn Fields is a representational painter who works in Mill River. Many of his paintings are narrative in style, depicting children at play. You can find his original work and prints of his work at Bon Dimanche in Great Barrington. For more information, visit shawnfields.com or @ifiwere_apainter.
Jane Larkworthy was a renowned beauty editor in New York City for decades—and, more recently, a renowned resident of the Berkshires, a friend, wife, stepmother, giver, and writer. She passed away from breast cancer on June 4, 2025. The B was fortunate to have Jane’s witty and engaging voice in her column, “On a Lark,” in most of our issues—she wrote about her love of hiking, gardening, Birkenstocks, and her dog, Remy, among other topics. She is missed.
