Scouting for Cover Dogues at Meet the Breeds

Kaia, Gigi, and Naomi are some beautiful bitches. The Kaia I mean is not Gerber, but a young boxer in a pink tutu and matching bow collar.

Was she named for the supermodel? I wonder. She was not, her mother says, “But she absolutely could be one.” In fact, Kaia hopes to join the dog show circuit next year. (Gigi, meanwhile, is a Pomeranian, and Naomi a Briard.)

These ladies are just a few of the 1,000-plus dogs who powered through the two-day American Kennel Club Meet the Breeds extravaganza, the country’s largest canine convention, which serves as a kind of amuse-bouche for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in mid-February.

I attended the tail-end of the event on Sunday—my almost three-year-old daughter, Alice, in tow—intent to scout future Dogue cover stars, or, at the very least, inspiration for Dogue cover breeds.

On the main floor of the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center, booths featuring over 100 dog breeds—organized alphabetically, from Affenpinschers to Yorkshire Terriers—snaked up and down the hall. People swarmed in every direction: babies, the elderly, plaintive children negotiating dog acquisitions with their parents. (“No, I will walk it, every day.”) A bar sold radioactive pink Paw Punch, while the kids’ area looked a lot like the small hounds’ obstacle course, except with more face-painting and balloon dachshunds.

Much like in speed-dating, each booth boasted three adjectives about the breed in question (Jack Russell: friendly, clever, athletic; Pekingese: affectionate, loyal, regal in manner), as well as decorations evocative of their provenance. (Dutch flags, fairy lights, and clogs for the Drentse Patrijshond; carved giraffes and zebras for the Rhodesian ridgebacks; a Scotch plaid blanket for a pearl-necklaced Scottie named Sigrid.)

At one point, a sleepy Pekingese took notice of Alice’s baby doll. (It was only when the dog’s head popped up that I realized the part I had been petting was his bottom.) “Oh, honey, you may need to take that away from here,” his parent said apologetically. “He is fixated on that baby.” His name was Armani and I was fixated on him. Sadly, his siblings, Gucci and Prada, has stayed home in Barberton, Ohio.

I also noted that, like my favorite dog owners in Central Park, many of the breeders shared an uncanny resemblance to their canines: the Norfolk terrier specialist with a tidy but wiry coif; the Saluki owner with an aquiline nose. But I wasn’t searching for human cover girls…

An Irish wolfhound named Bo had legs for days, and that very model-y ability to appear both nonchalant and utterly alert. The Pomeranians, Noel and Xena (named for the warrior princess, naturally), were maybe a bit too eager, panting in the arms of their mother, Cathy, president of the American Pomeranian Club, who was wearing a Chanel-reminiscent metallic tweed newsboy cap. Bobbie the Newfoundland, robust at 150 pounds, had a coat so downy it would make any mink wince. (Alice agreed, her hand disappearing into the dark fur: “It’s so cozy!”)

Elsewhere, two bull terriers dripped with jewels: Miki, in a double strand of pearls (from Amazon) and her daughter, Kabuki, in lavender crystal beads (from Etsy). The inspiration for their names? Their breeder was watching the Japanese news channel NHK when Miki was born, and named her after the newscaster.

“Do you speak Japanese?”

“No, but it was 2 a.m. and the only thing on TV.”

Alice and I were still uncertain we’d found a future cover star, however, until—like a mirage—Sza appeared.

Standing on a table, her silver hair in bubble braids, Sza the Afghan hound had mystique and star quality but no arrogance. (Her breeder, Christina, was equally elegant in a Prince of Wales check tweed shift and silver cuff.) Sza was being groomed—literally and figuratively—for next year’s show circuit, but her sisters, we were told, would be at Westminster in a few weeks.

Christina has high hopes for them: “Look out for Doja Cat and Cardi B!”