Havre de Grace. -- The search for the puppy began long before Christmas, so long that to the 11-year-old chief searcher, it seemed at times an eternity.
There were so many decisions, some of them quite complex and politically sensitive. Should the puppy be purebred, or rescued from the animal shelter without regard to its parentage? If purebred, then what breed would be best? And what about its gender? In certain circles, each of those questions can provoke violent arguments.
But the searcher, Sarah Jay, slogged steadily forward, undeterred by ideology or political correctness. Many dogs were considered, many dog books consulted.
The puppy should be purebred, she eventually determined, not for reasons of cachet but in the hope that it would be so successful she would one day want to breed it. And it should be female.
But what breed? Large or small, rough-coated or smooth? Labrador retrievers, so hardy and kind, seemed promising -- but big, especially as the puppy would be coming into the house. What about wheaten terriers? There's been a wheaten in Sarah's household all her life, but she wanted to get to know another breed.
Sarah's father, remembering a dog of his grandmother's he'd especially liked, recommended a Manchester terrier. A major investigation turned up several breeders, but no available puppies.
And then Kirby Puckett came to visit. Kirby, a Jack Russell terrier with an exuberant charm that surely would have tickled the Minnestota Twins outfielder after whom he was named, wriggled his way into Sarah's heart, and so the search for a Jack Russell began. For both the searcher and her assistant, it was frustrating as well as exciting.
The puppies that seemed perfect weren't available. The puppies that were available were all male, or too far away, or for some other reason not quite suitable. Sometimes it seemed as though Fate simply didn't want Sarah Jay to have a Jack Russell terrier at all.
You may not believe this, the assistant searcher said to Sarah at the end of one frustrating day, but when you've decided you really want something, looking for it is part of the fun. Besides, the more you look the more you learn. She didn't roll her eyes, but looked at him as though he were out of his mind. Yet the search went on.
Why, the assistant searcher wondered at times, are some people drawn so powerfully to animals,while others aren't at all? Sarah's older brother likes animals well enough, but when he was 11 would no more have have asked for a puppy than for a Barbie doll. And her father's interest in animals, when he was that age, hadn't been nearly as strong.
Environment is certainly a factor. Many children who grow up around animals turn that experience into a lifelong interest. But to some degree it's surely in the chromosomes, too.
No one can be sure exactly where Sarah, a rabbit breeder and 4-H Club member with an eye on a future veterinary career, acquired her affinity for animals. She might have learned it, for animals large and small have populated her world since she was born. But if she's also lucky enough to have inherited it, that shouldn't come as a great surprise. The fascination-with-animals gene has been floating around in her family for generations.
Her great-grandmother, for whom Sarah is named, certainly had it. She had a great eye for animals of all kinds, but was especially interested in dogs, and occasionally traveled with as many as 10 of them, plus a bird or two, in her Volkswagen beetle. (Even now, when someone mentions an obscure breed of dog, her
children or grandchildren are likely to recall that she'd had one.)
Many of the people with the strongest affinity for animals seem to be female. This is especially apparent among children, and isn't hard to explain. Understanding animals requires patience, gentleness and quiet behavior, and while it isn't necessary to be female to develop those nurturing qualities, it seems to help.
Perhaps, if there must be a sociological rather than a biological explanation, it is that young males who have the ability to be patient, quiet and gentle are reluctant to demonstrate it out of fear of appearing effeminate.
Blame that on patriarchal indoctrination, if you wish, or on Ronald Reagan. Whatever the reason, the result is the same.
In any event, the great puppy hunt was eventually successful. Sarah found the puppy she was looking for, and found one in the same litter for one of her Jack Russell consultants -- her great-aunt up in Vermont. Soon after Christmas, when the holiday frenzy has started to wane, two eight-week-old puppies will be arriving here.
That ought to be a day Sarah will remember for a long time. Her assistant searcher, for related but slightly different reasons, is looking forward to it too.
Peter A. Jay is a writer and farmer.