Seeking the perfect pooch

Kiplinger's Personal Finance Magazine, Nov, 1998 by Jane Bennett Clark

It doesn't slobber, shed or sprinkle, and always acts like a gentleman.

I'm standing in the middle of a cavernous building trying to persuade my 9-year-old daughter, Devon, that the short, squat, pop-eyed, mug-faced, sissy-looking little animal scampering around ring 8 is cute. Real cute. A 15-pound love bucket of cuteness--and way more adorable than the big, messy, galumphing golden retriever she has spotted across the room. Devon, pragmatic soul that she is, seems willing to be persuaded. She has detected a tiny fissure in the wall of resistance I have erected against dogs of any shape, size and form--and she's determined to squeeze through it.

Call the idea an academic exercise, or the musings of a mother whose two older children are teetering on the edge of the nest. Whatever the reason, I've agreed to identify--in theory, anyway--the Perfect Dog: one that doesn't slobber, shed, sprint after sparrows, sprinkle on the aspidistras and do all the doggy things that have long led me to steer clear of Canis familiaris. Of course, if I do find such a dog, the next question is inescapable: Would I, a lifelong dogophobe, be willing to buy it?

THE GENTLEMAN FROM BOSTON

My search begins with the 134 breeds currently recognized by the American Kennel Club, on the theory that they represent fewer variables than mixed breeds. Now for the fun part: looking through books and Web sites for my paragon of dogdom.

Information on purebred dogs abounds (see the box on page 143); still, winnowing the list proves fairly easy. First, I eliminate all dogs that require lots of exercise; my children, who usually spring from their beds 30 seconds before the school bus is due, are not likely to spend several hours a day walking a pet. Then I eliminate dogs that shed a lot, bark a lot, eat a lot or drool a lot, plus any that can be called "aggressive" (including chow chows, pit bull terriers and German shepherds) or "snappy" (Pekingese and toy poodles).

In the end, I settle on the Boston terrier, nicknamed "the American gentleman" for its tuxedolike coat and considered "one of the most delightful of canine companions," according to the Roger Caras Dog Book (see the box on page 144). Bostons don't stink, barely shed, need minimal grooming and require only moderate exercise. As a nonsporting breed, they aren't desperate to retrieve dead birds or stalk squirrels. In fact, writes Caras, "the Boston has only one use: love."

Perfect!

GOOD BREEDING WILL OUT

Actually, there is one little problem, I discover as I watch eight Bostons hurl themselves in the direction of their owner, Norman Randall, at his kennel in Accokeek, Md. I have driven about an hour from my home to see the dogs and meet Randall, who is president of the Boston Terriers Club of America. Visiting a reputable breeder, experts say, lets you check out a dog and find out if it suits your family. Randall's kennel is spotless and he has decades of experience; I've come to the right place.

But here's the problem. Bostons are smaller than I had anticipated and don't exactly exude manly ruggedness; in fact, they bear a striking resemblance to the pampered pets that used to sit on my great-aunt's lap and nibble Pepperidge Farm cookies. I can't quite envision one in my chaotic household, but Randall assures me Bostons are lovable animals, suitable for a family with older kids (younger children can be too rough) and valued for their temperament. "These dogs will lick you to death," he says.

That endorsement is good enough for me. I inquire about price--a stiff $600 and up for Randall's dogs, all champions--and health risks, which I'm told include a tendency toward juvenile cataracts and trick knees. With careful screening, Randall says, some of those problems can be avoided; `but all Bostons are sensitive to temperature extremes, and require air-conditioning in the summer and a coat in the winter. As for the cost, I should "spend the bucks" to get a good dog, he says: "You'll have it for 12 to 15 years--considered that way, they're not very expensive."

PUTTING ON THE DOG

Randall's dogs aren't for sale now, and I'm not ready to buy yet, anyway. He suggests I visit an all-breed dog show to look around and meet other breeders. A few days later Devon and I are in York, Pa., where almost 2,000 dogs of all assortments have gathered to strut their stuff.

Pulik. Borzois. Basset hounds. Briards. A dog show, it turns out, is a cheap, fun place to see the best specimens of each breed and chat with people who are happy to share their know-how. Plus, the show provides valuable life lessons: After Devon steps in a puddle of drool left by several slavering mastiffs, she decides little dogs are much, much nicer.

We watch the animals go through their paces and learn through their owners that, in addition to their desirable qualities, Cavalier King Charles spaniels shed, Westies are willful, and Bostons wheeze. Oh, and some Bostons can be stubborn. Devon glances over to see my reaction to that last comment. "Not a big deal," I respond airily. "Nobody's perfect."